


Mirrored in His Silver Shield: The House of Arthadan part 3

by silmarlfan1



Series: The House of Arthadan/Rogers Series [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Supernatural, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, Hurt Tony Stark, I put my characters through hell, Labor and Delivery, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Breakdown, Mpreg, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Resurrection, September 11 Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Terrorism, Violence, archeology, basically a lot of crap mentally, graphic birth, not really - Freeform, split personality, tombs, world trade center attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 82,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarlfan1/pseuds/silmarlfan1
Summary: The Winter Knight’s crusade across Europe has cut a bloody road through the Soviet Union and The Red Room. This dark road is miles wide, cobbled with the bodies of dead technicians and scientists, and mortared with the blood of handlers and military politicians. The whole of the eastern world now trembles in fear, watching his actions and waiting for the carnage to end. His is become death incarnate, and the very thing Spies and agencies fear: a Spy hunter, a Mole killer, a rogue Assassin.Throughout this all Steven had kept a laser focus on his goal: destroy HYDRA, and fix the damage they forced him for make. But the discovery of a single shelved project in the Soviet Union, created before his escape in a desperate attempt to revamp the Winter Soldier Project, has him reevaluating his plans, and the archeological discovery of a lifetime in Ireland derails them completely: the Lost Tomb of the First King of the Exiles: Arthadan.





	1. Vozrozhdeniye proyekta (Project “Rebirth”)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry about the long wait, I had other projects to get out of the way first before this. Anyway, this part of the story is not for the faint of heart, it contains a lot of blood and violence, and death. I have seen Civil War and I think that I can weave in some of the contents without derailing this outline. Also, be warned, people are going to die in this one, so tissues might be recommended. Also there is going to be a lull in the action for a while but it ramps right back up. This story spans a great deal of time and as such there are going to be time jumps. The large part is in the late ‘80s and into the ‘90s, so fun there.  
> Also be warned 9/11 is not only mentioned in this it holds significance in one of the later chapters, so if that triggers people you have been warned.  
> Lots of psychological mumbo jumbo that I have no idea are true, but are in here and not fun for our protagonists.  
> I hope you all like this one because it was one of the harder parts to write. The big time gape between the Captain America and the events in Iron Man, are what’s being worked with here. This story does end before the events that started Iron Man so you have a clear timeline, but things will get fuzzy.  
> also be warned Canon divergence ahead.  
> Have fun  
> also: I hope you will get the symbolism of the title, I just did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: sorry about the wait, it was so cold in my office that I couldn’t type. Winter has finally loosed its grip and now I can write again. So this chapter is focused on the change in Steven’s behavior and mind since the end of part two. It has been over a year, and he had done some damage but, this chapter explains his reasoning and his methodology to finding and taking down HYDRA and The Red Room.
> 
> It also goes into detail about how completely unethical and immoral HYDRA and the Red Room are, especially about human genetics and experimentation.
> 
> So I’ve rambled enough, on to the story.
> 
> ~*~*\

 

* * *

 

Steven dropped the technician’s body with a grunt, barely batting an eye as it fell to the floor to join the other HYDRA scientists and doctor’s littering the room. Steven let out a deep cleansing breath and opened his eyes, surveying the scene around him. It was not unlike many of the other bases he had cleared out in the past year and a half. It had the typical Red Room Spartan décor, with gray concrete walls and polished floors; paint in different colors running along the floor lead to different sections of the base.  It had the typical HYDRA flare though, with advanced technology lining the walls and desks in the labs and control rooms, but this one contained something the others did not: a cold storage vault. That little tid-bit had captured his interests, and led him on a trail to find it. Steven followed the trail for months and miles, destroying one base after another, each time making sure that none of the data on the control of him and his Ada remained behind; and gaining a little more information about his target.

They were small things really: a footnote here, a passing mention there, all about some new project that had the high hopes of the Red Room for its success. It wasn’t until he found the location of the new project that his interest really spiked: a research lab in the heart of Siberia, one that had familiar coordinates. Steven had been there before, a long time ago, and had shuddered at the memory of the cold sterile labs and damp cells, and the endless hours of pain and agony he endured, both physically and mentally from sensing his Ada’s torment. Upon realizing where he had to go, Steven burned the base to the ground, incinerating any evidence as to his next target. The last thing Steven wanted to do was to go back to the dungeon, but with the knowledge of an important project hidden somewhere in its vaults, he had no choice.

Now that he stood in the blood stained ruin of the heart of the base, Steven found himself oddly at peace. His breath was even and calm and his heart beat steadily in his breast; no trace of fear in its rhythm. He opened his eyes and looked around the room again; this time his gaze raked across the items in the room with purpose. His lips ticked up on one side with a whisper of a smirk, as his gaze lit on the main computer interface, untouched and open to a file directory. With absolute calm, he stepped over the bodies of the dead, and made his way over to the terminal, dispassionate about the pools of blood he walked through on his way there; leaving a trail of foot prints made in blood leading to the computer. Steven pulled out the office chair and uncaringly knocked the dead technician’s slumped over body out of the chair. The man slid to the floor with a squeak and a thump; a line of blood streaked across the desk he had collapsed on. Steven looked at the blood with a winkle of disgust, before he turned his attention to the screen. It was surprisingly advanced for a Soviet computer system with a full color screen and symbols instead of the black and green computer code from a few years before. Not that it mattered to Steven; to him all computers were outdated and obsolete, but the new user interface made it easier for him to gather his data. Steven pulled his hard drive out of his pocket in his coat, and set it on the desk, well away from the blood, before pulling out the adapter cable he had created for just these occasions.

It was rare that he found computers instead of file boxes and cabinets, but it made his job simple in the long run and hard in others; HYDRA and the Red Room wanted to update their technology and file system, but were too paranoid to digitize old files. New files and information could be encrypted while being written, but old ones had to be scanned and then filed, making encryption difficult and costly in processing terms. More often than not, Steven had found that they were using the computers as a way of easily searching for hard copy files; essentially turning the computer into a digital file directory, or rolodex. Steven liked it this way, because their paranoia and stupidity made it all easier to find the file. Not to mention their encryption was crap, and not even that complex, making it laughably simple to find his file.

Steven plugged the drive in with a placid smile and laid his hand on the computer’s tower. With a calming breath he let his eyes flutter shut, as his mind delved deep into the computers base code, rewriting large chunks and adding bits with a thought, allowing him to turn the drive into a removable data disk; at least to the computer’s source code. When he opened his eyes there was a triumphant gleam in them, as he removed his hand and began his search. The last base he had infiltrated and destroyed gave him the project name, and thus a place to start. In the file directory search bar he typed in the name of the project in Russian. “ _Vozrozhdeniye proyekta_ ” went into the search bar, and he pressed enter. It took a long slow minute for the computer to search through its file names to come up with a result, and for Steven it was an agonizingly slow minute. Steven took that time to go over his designs for his latest project in his head, closing his eyes and looking at the structure in his mind’s eye. He made adjustments to the silhouette and to the aerodynamics of the wing and fuselage before looking at the tail and propulsion. By the time the computer dinged, signifying the completion of its search, Steven had already deemed the craft perfect and had begun mapping out the electrical systems and computer core.

 Steven opened his eyes and was immediately bombarded with data not on chemistry and Serum research, but on genetics and genetic manipulation.  Steven frowned and leaned forward to pay closer attention to the file. Instead of skimming the file and downloading it onto his drive, he began to read in earnest, and as his eyes run further down the page, his expression became more stunned and disgusted. The experiments they had been conducting were way beyond the bounds of not only being unethical, they were bordering on the sadistic and dangerous.

Most of the research was based around genetics and how genes affected an organism, with experiments in diseases and other pathogens that could become plagues if they escaped the lab. The very sight of the animal testing with an altered flu virus made Steven sick to his stomach, and made him want to cry. The only saving grace was the fact that these tests were years old and the research abandoned.

                “Note to self,” Steven muttered as he read further down the page, “Burn those specimen samples.”

As he continued down into the human genetics, his skin took on a greenish pallor, as his jaw clenched and he swallowed against the urge to vomit. Suddenly he stopped and his skin went white as snow; at the bottom of one of the pages is the project name he typed into the search bar, along with a brief sentence describing the project.

                ‘ _Vozrozhdeniye proyekta: Project “Rebirth”_

_ Human genetic engineering project no. 3’ _

Steven didn’t like the sound of that. Genetic engineering on humans implied enhancement from birth, and not Serum based enhancements. Steven clenched his jaw and skimmed down the sentence until his eye caught on an item no.

_ ‘Sample no.7038-32B’ _

Steven opened a second search bar and typed in the item number. After a long minute the search coughs up a cold storage locker no. and location. Looking down the first document further revealed an attached digital file as well as a physical file location. Taking no time to read, Steven opened the file and downloaded it onto his drive, before skimming the document for further information. Steven growled when the document declared that further information was on written documents only, and slammed his hand onto the desk; jostling the cup of pens enough to fall over and roll to the floor. Steven ignored this and noted the file location and number before organizing the files he had taken already into neat categories and bulk downloading the rest for further study. Once he is done, Steven unplugged his drive but not before uploading a virus onto the computer that would cause as catastrophic overload and fry the hard-drive.

Steven stood up from the chair and pocketed his drive, before marching out the door towards the cold storage vault, stepping over the bodies of Dead scientists and guards as he went. The cold storage vault is not much different than the rest of the labs but it was painted a stark white instead of the unpainted gray. Steven ignored the uncomfortable feeling in the back of his mind as he opened the door to the cold room and started searching for the right locker. After several seconds he found it, and opened the door. Much to his shock there was only single vial inside.

With trepidation Steven reached in and plucked the vial from its shelf. It was an innocuous thing that was barely longer than his finger and as wide around as a thick pen. Steven looked at it and at the label, confirming that it was indeed sample no. 7038-32B. After a moment of puzzling why this would be so important to squirrel away in the most secure part of the facility, Steven spotted the inscription on the label:

                ‘ _Sample no. 7038-32B: genetically engineered embryo, enhanced characteristics expected; Status: Viable’_

Steven stared at the little vial with his jaw open in shock. HYDRA had created an enhanced individual from scratch, and had just left it in storage. ‘ _They must be further along in their genetics research and development than I thought,’_ Steven mused. After a moment Steven placed the vial back in the case, before turning to the filing cabinet just outside the cold room. Steven opened the drawer with the correct file series numbers on it and started fingering through the files before he pulled out the right one. Steven flipped open the file and took in the first page, and what he saw made him turn white and stumble for a chair.

‘ _Vozrozhdeniye proyekta: Project “Rebirth”_

_ Human genetic engineering project no. 3’ _

_ Sample no. 7038-32B _

_ Specimen: single fertilized embryo acquired from SHIELD holding facility _

_ Specimen Genetics: maternal genetics confirmed-Rogers, Steven G. Cpt. US Army; Paternal genetics: Unknown non-human donor  _

_ Alterations to date: resequencing of the paternal DNA, adding genetic markers from third subject _

_ Donor specimen: The Asset- Codename: Winter Soldier _

_ Project current status: Cold storage’ _

Steven looked back over at the locker with the unassuming little vial inside it and instantly knew what it was. It was the very same egg that Howard had harvested from Steve all those years ago, with the promise of return once research was complete. Howard had told Steven that it was kept in a cold storage vault in SHIELS’s secure archives, but it was stolen along with a sample of Celegorm’s sperm; used to help Steve get pregnant before everything in his life went wrong. A bolt of horror shot through him as he realized that they were manipulating Steve’s unborn child, then just as suddenly Steven saw red. Pure unaltered rage ran through him, and he dropped the file onto a desk as he marched back to the cold room.

                ‘ _How dare they,’_ he thought, his mind blinded by indignant rage. ‘ _How dare they use Steve’s egg like this! How dare they use it to create one of their monsters,’_ he seethed. Steven ripped the door open, and with an outstretched hand tore the locker’s door from its hinges with his powers. Steven walked up to the now open locker and raised his hand. His fingers sparked and crackled with electricity and began to glow white and gold, as he summoned power from deep within; his face contorted with pure rage. He raised his hand to destroy the vial and the embryo, when he suddenly stopped, and the red haze lifted from his eyes. There, on the vial’s label, was an innocuous little word that lifted the unfettered rage clouding his reason: Viable. One little word made him stop and really think about what he was doing and about to do, and his conscience hit him like Steve’s Shield not a second later. With the fog of rage gone, he realized what he was about to do.

                ‘ _What am I doing,’_ he thought to himself in shock. ‘ _It’s viable! It is a viable embryo, and I am just going to destroy it?!’_ Steven looked down struggling with his conscience and his anger, before he looked back up and saw the label again. His eyes this time caught on a very different word: Steve’s name. His eyes widened and he was overwhelmed by a wave of shame. ‘ _This is Steve’s baby,’_ his conscience said, its voice very small and quiet; but it was that quiet that shook Steven to his core. It sounded so very much like how he had sounded when he was young, before his powers had manifested; when Steve was his hero, only just behind his Ada.

                ‘ _Steve would never do this,’_ it said, and Steven’s eyes were suddenly blurred with tears. ‘ _Steve would never destroy and innocent life, no matter where it came from.’_ That little voice knew just how to strike him, for those words hit harder and cut deeper than any punch or knife ever could. Steven loved Steve, and learning he was dead destroyed him; broke his will and crushed any hope that was left in him that he would be rescued, that _they_ would be rescued. With that, Steven squared his jaw and the glow around his hands died. Steven reached in with the utmost care and pulled the vial off the shelf, cradling it in his hand for a moment before he grabbed a portable cryo-container. It looked almost like a small thermos made of brushed steel, with a screw on cap. This innocuous look made it the perfect espionage tool; mostly for obtaining samples of pathogens and other genetic samples. Carefully inserting the vial into the holder, Steven screwed the container shut and activated the portable cold storage circuit; rapidly cooling the internal container but keeping the external one only slightly cool to the touch.

Steven placed the container inside a travel briefcase before leaving the cold room. He then went back over to the file that he had dropped on the desk and placed it in the briefcase as well. After doing such, he quickly skimmed through the files for any other information on the project that could help him with research or on the stability of the genetic code. Time was against him and he needed every bit of information about the project if there was any way of saving the baby. Steven looked one last time through the digital files for anything else that could be vital to the project, before he left the base to self-destruct.

Steven climbed into his stolen military vehicle, dropping the briefcase into the foot well of the passenger seat, before starting the engine and driving back down the road. He was only a half mile from the entrance when the explosives went off, lighting up the sky behind him and the forest with fire and smoke. Sparklers of light danced in the sky as the base’s ammunition stockpile ignited; ensuring that any and all pathogens were utterly destroyed, and that there would be no evidence that he was there until he was long gone. Steven’s lips curled in a satisfied smile, while he sedately drove down the track to get back to the main road. When he was finally out of the wooded area, he floored it and raced down the road as fast as he could. Sometimes he hated it when HYDRA and the Red Room kept their bases so far from civilization.

It took him little over an hour to reach a small tundra town, with a train, and, more importantly, a public phone. Steven ditched his military vehicle and took his duffle bag and briefcase with him as he walked into town. As he reached the public phone, and entered the booth, he pulled out a little device from inside his coat pocket. It was strange looking, almost like a phone but small and thin. Those in the town that had been lucky to see bootlegs of the famous sci-fi series Star Trek would have thought it a prop for one of the communicators, albeit thinner and shinier. The case was a smooth black glass with a durable hinge, and inside was a small screen. Attached to the device was a cord like a phone connector that he used to stunning effect, much to the irritation of the crumbling KGB. Steven set his bags down with care and picked up the phone’s handset. With calm and care he unplugged the handset from the wire and attached the adapter on his device to the payphone.

Steven smiled when he put the device to his ear and heard a dial tone. He pulled the phone, for it was obviously a portable telephone, away from his ear and started using the keypad on it to make a call. Steven smirked again when he heard the static of the wiretap being blocked by his device.

It was a portable telephone, but it was also the most sophisticated piece of spyware he had ever made. The phone, when attached to a wired system, would scramble the location of the call as well as encrypting the audio data. This meant that the audio could only be heard on the closed system between him and the number he dialed, making wiretapping impossible; because all they would hear would be static or garbled voices. It did this by digitizing the audio information coming into and going out of the phone receiver, and thus allowing it to be encrypted. The result was a phone that could not be tapped or traced, and all Steven had to do was plug it in and it would drive the KGB and HYDRA bonkers trying to find him by a wire trace or listen in on his calls.

The phone rang several times before the operator received the call.

                “Hello. This is British library services, how can I help you?” the calm English operator asked. Steven smiled again at the creativity of MI6 and their answering service.

                “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” he said, following the script. “I’m trying to get a hold of the British transportation services,” he said in code; meaning he was needed transportation out of his current location. The operator chuckled and following the same script transferred his call to the appropriate switch board.

                “Transportation,” the woman said.

                “I need a private flight out of western Russia,” he said, “What can you get me?” there was the sound of clacking from a keyboard as she looked for airports sympathetic to them, before she answered.

                “We have one at north of Leningrad that had a plane on standby, but it will only take you as far as London,” she said. “I can get you a transferring flight to the Americas from there.” Steven sighed and weighed his options. He didn’t have the time to wait for a non-stop flight, but he couldn’t risk the chance that he could be caught in London, either. In the end, he realized that he couldn’t risk taking the chance at waiting, because he didn’t know how long it would take; and he was on the clock.

                “I’ll take it,” he said, “how long before the connecting flight?”

                “About 8 hours,” she said with regret, and Steven snarled in frustration. “But there is a commercial flight out of Belfast less than 4 hours after, but you’ll need a train and ferry across.” Steven sighed and calculated the time. If he got on one of the bullet trains to the ferry he might make it with a few hours to spare. Decided, Steven nodded and answered.

                “That’ll be fine,” he said. “If it’s possible, could you send a missive to Mr. Stark at his office to meet me at my Ada’s house in New York?”

                “Of course,” the operator said cheerfully. Steven smiled in relief before thanking her and disconnecting the call. Steven rested his forehead on his phone, before he unplugged it and reattached the old handset. He closed the phone and picked up his bags. Leaving the booth he walked toward the town’s only source of revenue: the train station. He had a long trip ahead of him

                “I really need to finish my jet.”

* * *

 

~~*~

TBC…

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: that is only the first chapter! Yikes! Well at least this time I have a proper idea about where and how to start it. I stared at the page and my outline for several days trying to figure out how to start it. I figured I was either stalling or I had some small amount of writer’s block. Well I got over the hump of the opening scene and now I just have to keep up my momentum.  
> The Next chapter it a prelude, and has only original characters, it will most likely be painfully short, so two chapters will be added to compensate.  
> correction: it is long!


	2. Archaeological Discovery of a Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two hikers stumble on the greatest discovery since King Tut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: second chapter, no Steven in this, or anyone else that we know but, there is a new development that will make this the most important chapter in the series. No spoilers so, I hope you like, and please subscribe and give me kudos and reviews to tell me how I am doing and to give me ideas. I love new ideas! If they fit, I might just add them.  
> On to the fic!

~*~*~*~-

* * *

 

It is dark, until it suddenly isn’t. The earth began to shake and rumble before the roof collapsed and sunlight streamed into a room that hadn’t seen light in over millennia. The dust and earth took a moment to settle before they showed the damage. The room that was once grand and magnificent to behold, now had a gaping hole in its ceiling and a large pile of dirt, stone and grass directly beneath it. at first glance it seemed that the sinkhole was caused by natural erosion until the dirt had settled even more, showing that beneath the pile was a set of stairs and what had caved in was the old entrance.

                “I don’ think we should go down there, Jimmy,” said a young Irish woman. Her golden red hair was braided down her back and tucked under a billed hat. She wore warm long sleeved clothes and boots but no coat, as it was unseasonably warm. Her partner wore similar clothes but also had on a backpack with hiking gear. His dark black hair was in complete contrast to her gold-red, and was neatly cropped around his head to be long on top and short on the bottom. His flashing blue eyes rolled as he ventured down into the hole that had appeared in their path.

                “ah, yer bein’ too careful, Katie O’Hare,” he said with a thick brogue, laughter in his voice. “Where be yer sense of adventure?” his companion squawked in indignation and turned beet red from fury.

                “’sense of adventure’ he says!” she huffed, “I’ll have you know, James Michelin Shaughnessy,” she said with a reprimanding tone, “that it my idea to go hikin’ today in the first place! _Who_ was it that dinna want to go down the old forest path, Hm? Who was it that said them old mounds are full of _fairies_ and _Wights? You, that’s who!_ There be no such thing as fairies and Wights, I said, and still you wouldn’t believe me. And so we went _round_ the old forest on the _long_ road, and now _who_ is climbin’ down some big _sinkhole_ that just _appeared in the ground,_ like a curious cat!?” Jimmy sighed and rolled his eyes again before turning to look at her.

                “I know I said that, but Katie,” he said, “aren’t the least bit curious as to what’d down there?” he looked up at her with his bight sparkling blue eyes full of childlike curiosity, and Katie with her arms stubbornly crossed glared at him for a moment before looking away and making a face as she attempted to resist her own burning curiosity. Finally she uncrossed her arms and stomped the ground, making a face of frustrated defeat, and looked down at her smirking companion.

                 “Fine,” she said as she stomped down the hole to breeze past him, before she glared at him over her shoulder, “but don’t think that this means ye won, Jimmy. I ain’t lettin’ you off that easily.”

Jimmy grinned and followed her into the depths, taking out a torch to light their way.

                “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’,” he said with a Cheshire grin. Katie glared at him once more before taking in their surroundings, and all at once she was in awe of the grand architecture.  They had obviously entered some sort of entry hall or room, for the ceiling was sloped downwards and was barrel vaulted. At first it looked dank and gloomy but the further down they went the cleaner and whiter the walls and ceiling became. Then they came down to the bottom of the steps and into a long hall, with branches that lead to dead ends and darkened rooms, but further down the two could see that there was a far larger room straight ahead. For some reason it seemed brighter and as they continued down, they found out why. Braziers, huge bronze braziers filled with oil were lit, and lowly burning in the corners of the room. Katie and Jimmy gaped at the sight of the ornately crafted room, huge pillars of black stone capped with white arches held up the massive vaulted roof, while the borders around the floor and ceiling were carved with intricate knot work inlayed with gold and silver metals. It was grand in every respect of the word, but this was only an antechamber, one of many, not the burial chamber and the resting place.

Jimmy and Katie lingered for a moment gazing in wonder at the glory of Numenor brought to Earth, before they continued onward, down the long winding barrel vaulted hallway, past many chambers, each one grander than the last until the came to the final room. It was magnificent, with steps that lead down into a room beneath the levels. The staircase was grand and bold, stepping down to the great hall, and what looked like a replica of a throne room. It was a grand throne room indeed, with towering pillars of black stone reaching up from white marble plinths to be capped by black almost Corinthian column caps, which branched out like the canopy of a tree. On either side of the room was a second level suspended by black and white arches branching out from the columns, and on that level were great frescos so bright and beautiful they could have been painted yesterday.  As they descended the stairs into the throne room, they saw the recessed niches with marble statues standing on grand pedestals bearing the emblem of a white tree. As they continued down the room became darker, and soon they realized that their little electric lights could not illuminate the great throne room.

In a spur of the moment decision, Jimmy took out a zippo lighter and lit one of the torches still held in its place on the wall. It was a caged torch with the emblem of wings rising out of the base like feet, with four in total. Katie and Jimmy took a second to marvel at the quality of the craftsmanship before Jimmy touched the torch to the basin of oil. The oil instantly caught light and began to spread, because, unbeknownst to the two hikers, the basin of oil had two runners that flowed down to light other braziers and torches in the bottom level. Katie and Jimmy gasped in awe as the braziers lit the room, bringing to light the smooth white stone and gleaming black stone. The two walked further down the steps looking around in amazement at the paintings and tapestries on the walls depicting battles and the history of Numenor.

The two walked across the white and gray stone floor towards the opposite wall. At first it appeared as if it was a dead end, until they saw that the great archway with a simple polished face. Katie approached the face and brushed at it.

                “Katie, come on,” Jimmy said, looking about nervously, “we should be goin’. We shouldn’t even be here.” Katie ignored him and continued to run her hands over the smooth stone surface. “what are ye doin’?” Katie turned around and glared at him.

                “This can’t be all there is here, Jimmy,” she said gesturing to the room, “where’s the sarcophagus? Why would that grand entry chamber end at a dead end, Hm?” Katie put her hands on her hips and leaned forward into Jimmy’s space. “Because it isn’t.” she turned around and ran her hands over the stone wall again. “I’ve studied enough about ancient tombs and barrows to know that the burial chamber always has a grand hall, and is usually hidden.” Jimmy groaned and hung his head. It was his fault for getting involved with a history major. Katie turned around again and gestured to the room. “Tell me, Jimmy, if this room wasn’t underground, what would you think it was?” Jimmy looked at her with befuddlement before he rolled his eyes and looked around more closely.

                “A throne room?” he asked. Katie grinned and snapped her fingers.

                “Exactly,” she crowed, “and what about this ‘Throne room’ is wrong?” Jimmy looked around again before a confused look stole over his features.

                “Where’s the throne?” Jimmy asked, and Katie practically jumped for joy.

                “Precisely! Where is the Throne?” Katie crowed and turned back to the wall. She ran her hands over the stone again, talking as she worked. “If this is a version, or copy of a real Throne room, then there would be a throne, but there isn’t, so there must be a reason. The high ceilings and white and black arches indicate that this could be only one thing,” Katie turned around her eyes alight with excitement and glee, “a Numenorean Tomb! And the grandeur and size mean it was someone very important; maybe even a King!”  Katie squealed, and turned back to the wall, her face focused and serious. “Now Numenoreans liked symbolism and used a lot of astrological mathematics to build their tombs. And if I am right, then there should be a shaft or something to reflect the sunlight and moonlight into the chamber, but because there is no animal infestation it must have been sealed.”

It dawned on Jimmy at that very moment that Katie was right. Most tombs were dirty and full of rats but this one was pristine, with nary a cobweb to be seen. He started looking around for some sort of trigger or switch, which was probably what Katie was looking for. As he looked around he was half aware of Katie’s mumblings.

                “They were also incredible engineers for their time, so it could look like anything,” she mumbled, and her voice echoed in the spacious room. “Most likely a leaver or a something with a wing motif, they were fond of eagles.” Jimmy noted it in the back of his mind and then spotted something out of place on the wall: right beside the steps that lead up to the blank archway was a large pillar, and in the knot work on the side closest to the arch was a diversion in the pattern; a star. It was set in an oval that the knot work diverged around, and it was carved with a set of rings in silver and red surrounding a field of blue. That wasn’t the only thing that was strange. Unlike the rest of the stone it had been inlaid with small chips of blue and red stone that were polished smooth, and a band of a silver looking metal surrounding that. The star itself was raised up and faceted like a cut diamond, and sat inside the field of blue, surrounded by the red and silver bands. It was oblong but very symmetrical. It was also the only thing on the wall that had a deeply cut line around it.

Jimmy looked at it for a moment before he realized that this could be the switch. He looked over at Katie but she was too absorbed in her own search to listen, so he shrugged and placed his hand on the star. It took a little effort, but with a small grunt, Jimmy felt the stone slide in with a scraping sound and heard a deep click and then an ominous thunk. Jimmy jumped back and so did Katie as an ominous rumble shook the hall. Suddenly a small trickle of dirt fell down in front of the stairs, and the two looked up. Katie gaped in awe as a large metal and stone seal opened like an opening iris, spiraling open  but also dropping stone and soil onto the floor, Jimmy grabbed Katie and pulled her away just in time for the large clod of sod and soil to fall to the floor. The pair coughed as the dry soil and sod puffed up a plume of dust into the air. Waving at the air to get it to clear, when they opened their eyes they were stunned to see the room flooded with daylight, but Katie was even more stunned to see that the blank wall inside the archway was not blank at all.

In all her vigorous searching, Katie had rubbed away the accumulated dust and dirt on an inlaid design. The archway was much larger than the inlaid metal, but it echoed it just the same. It was a pair of columns rising up to form the arch, with a pair of trees winding their branches around them. At the top of the arch where the keystone would be was instead the same star surrounded by an oval and a silver band. In an odd sort of way in resembled a door, and Katie was awestruck by the simplistic beauty of it. In a graceful curve below the arch were a set of lines written in a strange script almost like Gaelic. As the sunlight hit it, it almost seemed to glow with a white fire before it faded leaving only the faint shimmer of precious metal under the dust.

Katie gaped at the door, and looked at Jimmy, who was equally as stunned.

                “Katie,” he said and swallowed hard to get some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. “I think we might be needin’ to call the authorities. This is way beyond us!” Katie numbly nodded, her eyes riveted to the lettering. Then her eyes widened and she raised a shaky hand to point at one of the sets of characters.

                “Jimmy,” she said, her voice almost a whisper it was so soft, “that’s the High Elvish Scrip of Tangwar. I recognize that word.” Jimmy looked down at her and saw her face a pale as milk from shock.

                “Well, what is it? What does it say,” he asked. Katie gulped and looked back up at Jimmy. Her eyes were stunned but Jimmy could see the shock wearing off, and the flicker of euphoria began to light her eyes. She turned back to the letters and pointed out the words as she translated them.

                “ _Here lies Arthadan, son of Amandil; King of the Numenoreans.”_ Katie and Jimmy stood staring at the letters in shock before Jimmy finally spoke in a calm and mildly cheerful manner.

                “Well, Katie, darlin’,” he said, “I think you’ve just made yer career. Professor O’Seannan has to accept yer internship and theories now, cause the proof’s more ‘en likely lyin’ behind that door.” Katie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers before a jubilant smile split her face.

                “YES!” she crowed, and leapt for joy.

~*~

[the Doors of Arthadan](https://fredricksonemily.tumblr.com/image/174160450915)

* * *

 

Steven had just arrived at Belfast, when he heard the news; or rather saw it. It was plastered all over the front page of the local newspaper, and on the television news station that the TV was turned to.

                _Local Hikers Find Lost Numenorean Tomb: archeologists believe it to be the long lost tomb of Arthadan, First recorded High King of the Numenoreans._

Steven was stunned for a second before he strode over to the newsstand and asked the man to turn up the volume.

                “Sure, lad,” he said and turned the volume up so that Steven could hear the news report.

                “ _In local news,”_ the young redhead news anchor said while looking up at the camera from her notes, _“a pair of hikers have seemingly stumbled onto what could be the most significant archeological discovery of the millennium: a Numenorean burial complex spanning over several acres of land. The local authorities of Whitehaven where called to the old Westernesse hiking trail, after a couple hiking in the area stumbled onto a newly formed sink hole. Only this sinkhole was of manmade origins, as they discovered what appears to be a full sized burial complex, including large rooms, antechambers and a throne room. At first it was thought to be a Celtic burial chamber until the Archeologists confirmed the initial statement of one of the hiker’s assessments.”_ The camera cut to a young strawberry blond bubbling over in excitement.

                “ _It’s a Numenorean tomb,”_ she said, “ _It’s the only explanation.”_

                “ _And what makes you believe that,”_ the young male news caster asked, placing the microphone in front of her face. The girl rolled her eyes, but she continued smiling.

                “ _Well for one, the burial complex is much larger than any pre-Anglo-Saxon era burial chamber, and for another, the architecture of the complex is distinctly Numenorean,”_ she answered.  Her excitement only grew as she continued. “ _We have always had rumors in this area that there was a large burial complex around here, and local legend says that long ago men came to this land bringing incredible knowledge and technology. It also says that they buried the line of their great king’s eldest son near here, because their king was buried here. This lore got jumbled up with that of the King Arthur legends, and such; as a result it has been mostly delegated to folklore and fairy tales. But there have been smaller funerary complexes uncovered near here, all bearing the same symbol: an eight pointed star with a long tail, on an oval field of blue, surrounded by a band of red and silver.”_ Steven froze. He knew that symbol. It was the heraldic seal of the house of Arthadan. _“These were long thought to have been some pagan symbol brought over by the Romans or the Saxons, but the discovery in this tomb throws that theory completely out of the water.”_

The girl takes a deep breath before continuing.

                _“We found the same symbol in this tomb, and the evidence suggests that it is not a pagan symbol but a heraldic seal!”_ the anchor seemed to be visibly shocked, and took a moment to compose himself before asking a question.

                “ _You were the one to find this tomb, yes,” he asked, the girl nodded vigorously, “and you were also the archeology student to postulate the theory that the Star in the local tombs was not a pagan symbol, but likely a seal of a Numenorean house?”_ the girl nodded and seemed more composed and less like a kid at Christmas.

                “ _Yes, I was,” she said, “you see, the other tombs were all in very sorry shape when they were discovered. They had been looted and sacked, and some were even badly damaged. This tomb, though, is_ pristine. _”_ She grinned like a giddy school girl and continued.

 _“There were almost six in total, and there were thought to be more but as the tombs became smaller and less elaborate over time, it is my theory that the practice of funerary tombs and large burial complexes went out of favor. It is also likely that they knew that their tombs were being robbed and looted and as a result made smaller tombs to compensate. It is very likely that they also stopped building the tombs altogether and instead went to make family crypts under protected land. This seal has cropped up in and around the area of the large family estate belonging to the Numenorean family, Rogers; who are known descendants of Arthadan: the last royal member of that house to be born in Numenor.”_ She took another breath and continued on.

                _“It was thought that they took up the symbol as the seal of their house, but this latest development proves that they brought the seal with them from Numenor and that they always had this symbol as the heraldry of their house.”_ She had to visibly compose herself this time as her excitement bubbled over. “ _In the largest room, the Throne room, as I and my colleagues have come to call it, is a large archway, and what appears to be a sealed door. Over this door is an elaborate inlay of a rare metal alloy made with metal the Numenoreans brought with them called Mithril, and it states the owner of the tomb as none other than Arthadan himself.”_ Steven stilled and felt his jaw drop in shock. Arthadan’s tomb; It was thought lost forever, and a pair of lucky hikers stumbled upon it. Steven shook his head and tuned back into the interview.

                “ _We have yet to open the tomb, but as it is on the family estate of the House of Rogers, we are waiting for permission to begin fully excavating the site, and possibly opening the burial chamber proper. I really look forward to seeing the sarcophagus of this ancient Numenorean king. It will be the first one found in almost one hundred years.”_ The anchor man smiled at her before turning back to the camera and signing off.

                “ _Well there you have it folks_ ,” he said, “ _The lost tomb of a Numenorean king found in Ireland. This is Matt McGregor signing off, back to you Shannon_.” The TV cut back to the female anchor, which smiled and looked at her notes again.

                “ _Thanks Matt_ ,” she said with a grin, “ _well that’s all we have on the development. If you want more information of the Numenorean tombs mentioned in this segment, the British Museum has a whole section devoted to the tombs and the sarcophagi found within. We will be back on site tomorrow for further developments._ ” The woman smiled again and launched into a different story, but Steven just tuned it out.  He grabbed the paper and paid the man before he started to skim though it for valuable data. It stated that the tomb was on Numenorean owned land, specifically on the estate of the House of Rogers. Steven had never been there, but he knew from his Ada and from Steve that the estate and house proper were cared for under the care of the steward of the house. The paper also showed some pictures of the tomb. The young girl had called it pristine, but Steven saw that the ravages of time had still done some damage to the large complex, so she must have been saying that in context to other tombs of this size. There were large sections of walls that had cracked and there was encroachment of nature, like vines and moss. There was also significant pools of standing water, all of this would need to be fixed. Steven knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Steward would want the tomb restored, if they were to even excavate on the site.

                “Thanks for the paper,” he said and rolled it up to place in his briefcase. “Is there a payphone near here?” the man pointed across the station closer to the ticket booths, and Steven smiled in thanks before moving to them to make a phone call.

Much as he had done in Russia, he took off the handset before attaching the portable phone to the cable. He called the operator and asked her to put him through to Castle O’ Rogers: the Rogers family Manor. The archeologists needed permission to excavate, and Steven was curious about the ancient King, so he would get two birds with one stone by asking the Steward if he could be his proxy for this.

Steven smirked as the call clicked and the aging steward answered. Yes; two birds, one stone.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: I hope you like this chapter. I didn’t intend to get so in depth into the tomb but, I had a vision of it and a few words don’t do justice. I might just draw the far wall in the throne room and the archway if I get feelers. Review and tell me if you want it and I will motivate myself into doing it. Plus it gives me a good incentive to use my new tablet.  
> Please kudos and review if you like, subscribe to see more  
> doors are linked and inserted for viewing


	3. Arthadan, Son of Amandil; Numenorean King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Tomb of Arthadan in opened, and a surprise awaits the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is it, the sarcophagus and the burial chamber proper. I hope I do it justice.  
> Posting as fast as I can, I hope. I want to have as much done as possible, because I have no excuse to stall but procrastination. Winter does give me a good excuse otherwise but not now. Please tell me how I am doing.  
> Fic time!

~**~*

* * *

 

It was raining, when Steven arrived; the kind of soft light hazy mist that Ireland and the British isles are famous for. It was unseasonably warm and as a result Steven removed his long leather duster, and traded it for a lighter overcoat.  It was still black, mind you, but Steven felt the need to be less ostentatious for once. Steven had no idea what to expect but after his little chat with the Steward of the Rogers estate, he hoped that the archeologist hadn’t overstepped their bounds. But when he saw the excavation was already in full swing he knew he should have not hoped otherwise. Irritation curled in his breast and left a sour taste in the back of his throat. He marched over to the man who seemed to be in charge, and wheeled him around to face him; not bothering to hide his irritation from his face.

                “What the Hell, do you think you’re doin’,” he growled. The man stared back at him through large round glasses hanging off a hawk like nose, his eyes as round as saucers. He was fair skinned with freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, and he had the typical Irish red hair. The professor pulled back and straightened his jacket before trying to put on an expression of someone who had every right to do what he was doing and be where he was; emphasis on trying.

                “My colleagues and I are excavating this site for the British Museum. We have been given permission to excavate the site,” he said snobbishly and with his chin held high so that he could look down his long beak of a nose at Steven. Steven scowled and shoved down his tempter mercilessly, taking a calming breath to cool his temper.

                “As far as I know, it hasn’t been given yet,” he said hotly, “this is private property and this tomb rests on private land. You weren’t given any permission to enter that tomb.” The professor squawked indignantly at his statement and sputtered.

                “No permission! Now you see here, young lad,” he shot back, “this used to be private land, until the late ‘20s when it was hence considered abandoned. As such I only needed the permission of the local authorities to excavate.” The man gave Steven a smug smirk, as if he had won the argument, but Steven only gave the man facsimile of a smile, all teeth and little joy.

                “Wrong on both counts, professor,” he said, and the man unfolded his arms and started to look worried. “The land belongs to the Rogers estate, and the Rogers family. You know, those powerful and wealthy Numenorean Lords, which used to live in Castle O’ Rogers. The family of Captain Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America.” The professor finally started to look contrite as Steven laid out the picture for him. “The Rogers household has been under the rule and protection of the Steward of the estate, and that includes all lands belonging to them. The land was made open to the public by the Stewards as a way of giving back to the poor people in the area who suffered most from the first War. They never abandoned the land.” The professor finally hung his head in shame.

                “We were told by the assessor’s office that the land was public, because of abandonment,” he said, looking back at the entrance to the tomb.

                “Well it isn’t, professor, and not only is it private land, this is also considered a sacred burial ground and you have no right to trespass on it. The hikers are forgiven because they stumbled upon it, but you came here uninvited. What you are about to do is tantamount to grave robbery,” Steven told him. The professor looked saddened but also disappointed.

                “This is the greatest archeological find since the discovery of King Tut’s tomb,” he said, “a discovery like this happens only once in a lifetime. We know so little about the ancient Numenoreans, and to find the tomb of their first king, is extraordinary. To let a find like this go uncovered and unexplored because of a mistake is foolish.” The archeologist turned back to Steven his face hardened and determined. “I won’t let a little thing like a stupid assessor mistake get in the way of the most amazing archeological discovery of a lifetime.” Steven smirked and his face softened a little, impressed by the stubbornness of the little man, before raising his hands in a placating gesture.

                “Hold on, now, professor…” Steven chuckled at himself; “you know in all the commotion I forgot to ask your name.” the archeologist started and looked at Steven before bursting into a full belly laugh.

                “You know,” he chuckled with a grin, “neither did I. My name’s O’Seannan, Connor O’Seannan; what’s yer name, lad?” Steven smiled a more genuine smile, before holding out his hand in greeting.

                “Steven,” he said, “Steven Buchannan.” The Archeologist laughed as he shook Steven’s hand.

                “A Scotsman,” he laughed, shaking his head, “I should have known.” Steven chuckled and shook his head.

                “No, not a Scotsman,” he said with a smile dropping the man’s grip, “my family lives in America, and they came from Romania, but my gran… she could trace her lineage to Arthadan.” Connor nodded in understanding. “I actually came from the Rogers estate on behalf of the steward to give his permission to excavate the site, on one condition: you uncover the sarcophagus and restore the tomb to its former glory. The caretakers sealed the tomb ages ago to prevent tomb robbers from plundering this tomb as well. You already know that the others were looted, but this was also known to them, so they sealed up the tomb and buried the entrance. Over the years the knowledge of where the tomb was exactly… was lost. They knew the general area but no precise coordinates.” Connor nodded and turned back to look at the group of archeological students working on removing the rubble from the lesser rooms and opening the burial chamber. He turned back to Steven with a smile.

                “I have never seen a tomb in my life as an archeologist that was more grand or large as this one,” he said, “not even the great tombs of the Egyptian pharaohs were more elaborate or ornate. If the caretakers of the estate and the tomb want to see it restored, then I dare say you’ll not find an archeologist that wouldn’t jump at the chance to help.” Steven grinned, and let out a sigh of relief.

                “Then we are agreed,” he asked, “permission to excavate for your help to restore the tomb?” Connor smiled himself and held out his hand.

                “Aye,” he said, “I think my boss would agree that it is a fair trade.” Steven took Connor’s hand and shook on it.

                “Good,” he said, dropping Connor’s hand and moving towards the entrance. “Now that we have that little business out of the way, we should get to the matter of opening the burial chamber. I take it you haven’t been able to find a way in that doesn’t involve explosives?” Connor shook his head dejectedly and eyed Steven.

                “I take it you now a way in?” he asked and Steven nodded with a smile before moving to the entrance. “Well, what is it?” Steven simply smiled and motioned with his head to move down into the tomb. “Ye aren’t gonna tell me, are ye?” he asked, and Steven grinned cheekily. Connor shook his head and rolled his eyes up, pleading for patience; despairing at his choice of an assistant.

~*~~*

* * *

 

When Steven entered the great hall, he was completely blown away. He had been expecting a grand kingly throne room, he had seen the architecture of the Rogers manor, and knew it would be grant. But he had no idea just how large and elaborate it would be until he set eyes on it. His jaw dropped to the floor as he took in the double floored throne room, and the descending staircase that led to the bottom floor and the door itself. The door to the tomb was large, lit up with what looked to be an Ithildin inscription, which was slightly smaller than the door and glowed with a pale blue light. The door was a simple arch of stone, recessed further inward than the rest of the wall. It was framed by two large columns with domed, recessed niches containing large carved statues of two trees. On the left was a tree carved of a golden stone laden with golden fruit on its golden leaf branches. On the right was a tree carved from a silver stone, its branches bearing silver flowers only on its many delicate branches.

                ‘ _Laurelin and Telperion,’_ Steven realized as if he were struck by a bolt of lightning, ‘ _The two trees of Valinor.’_

Above the three archways was an elaborate depiction of the stars, only they weren’t the stars Steven had seen every night in the heavens. These were the stars and constellations of Arda, and there was also a branch work of lines connecting the constellations creating a beautiful knot work of lines.

                ‘ _Star chart,’_ Steven realized _, ‘the Numenoreans were mariners. They used the stars to sail at night, to lead them home. These are trade routes.’_ Steven smiled at the ingenious design and made a mental note to ask the Steward about them.

Once Steven had finished gawking at the beauty, he set about finding the secret to opening the doors. He looked at the inlaid inscription and thought about what the Steward had told him about how to enter the tomb. All he could tell Steven was that only those that could speak aloud the inscription could enter. The inscription was simple and read as thus:

                _“Here now lieth the earthly remains of Arthadan, Son of Amandil: King of the Numenoreans of Terra. Be ye friend, speaketh so, and enter my tomb.”_ The inscription was cryptic but straight forward, and it puzzled Steven, until he put it into context.

                “Can you get it open?” Connor asked, “What does it say?”

                “Oh, it’s simple really, you just speak the password and the doors will open,” Steven said. He saw the dubious expression on the Irishman’s face and explained. “It’s not a physical mechanism that holds it shut. These doors are protected by a very old and powerful type of elvish magic.” He looked over at the professor and saw the man’s incredulous look. “Yes, well, Elvish magic, whether you believe it or not, is very real, and this spell is very specific, not to mention old; very old.” Steven paused as he marveled the feeling of the spell, before he continued, “The wording is very specific, and that is the clue you see.” Steven gestured up to the shimmering Tangwar script on the door. “The most literal translation and what your student probably translated it as is: _here lies Arthadan, Son of Amandil: King of the Numenoreans. If you are friend, speak and enter._ Or _speak, friend and enter._ It’s almost identical to the doors of Durin; which makes sense if you know that Arthadan was a student of Celebrimbor, and a great admirer of his work and of him personally. Arthadan spent several years under the smith’s care and tutelage.  Celebrimbor even made Arthadan his infamous Mithril armor, but here is the kicker: Arthadan knew High Elvish as well as common Elvish, and wrote several books detailing the grammar and punctuation of it.” Connor nodded and looked lost. Steven shook his head and sighed. “Don’t you get it? If Arthadan was such a skilled linguist, then why is there a glaring punctuation error on the doors of his own tomb?”

Connor looked at the lettering and tried to decode the message. After a moment he gave up and looked back at Steven for answers.

                “ _Speak, Friend, and enter_ ,” Steven quoted, “that is what it says. It means to literally speak _friend_ and enter. It’s a riddle, just like the riddle of the Doors of Durin.” Steven turned to the doors and walked up the steps until he was right at the base. Then he spoke aloud, in a clear ringing voice, “ _Mellon_ ”.

For a second nothing happened, and then there was a grinding noise and dust and debris started to fall away from the wall. Slowly, on ancient hinges, the doors opened, their massive size made very apparent as they swung out showing two doors over three feet thick. The hinges screeched in protest but still opened to their fullest, slowly but surely revealing the chamber within. As the light breached the door, at first nothing could be seen beyond but dust, but as it settled the light streamed in to show a small domed room with curved arches and columns carved with vines, and a latticework of woven curves that had the look of a forest canopy. The walls between the columns had faded frescoes depicting battles and images of Arthadan’s life. The floor was smooth and covered with black white and colored tiles, in a pattern that Steven couldn’t recognize that radiated out from the center of the room.

Then they looked toward the center and they saw it: there, in the center of the room, lying in all its glory, was the sarcophagus. It was large and magnificent in quiet austere glory. It was carved from white stone, and it was simple. It was more like a stone table or an altar, with a lovely lattice of pointed arches, bisected by a long line and in the very center was the tree of Numenor, its branches spread as if to hold up the great burden it now bore. And lying on the stone top was Arthadan himself, carved meticulously from the same white stone. His was head cradled on a stone pillow, his hands holding the magnificent sword Celebrimbor had forged from him, his mighty kite shield resting on his legs, his helm at his feet, and his whole form draped in cloth. Carved the way he was, with a fair and delicate crown on his brow, he was every inch the king of legend, and at an impressive height of 6 foot two inches there was no doubt he was Elendil’s brother. His face was carved in the most impressive detail, and was peaceful, the lines of age washed away by the gentle smile on his lips in death. Upon his breast was a chain, disappearing into his robes, most likely the Star of Arthadan, and held in his left hand just below the guard of his sword, was a second chain. Upon it was as simple cross, no decorations or ornamentation, just a cross that rested over the fuller of his blade.

Steven suddenly felt tears of heavy sorrow spring to his eyes, and felt the imprinted emotions of those who entered this tomb before them; mourning the loss of their beloved king. Steven swallowed back the emotions and moved to help the archeologists remove the ornate cover stone from the sarcophagus. The casket within was large but still understated in a way that was not what was expected of a king. It was almost a simple wooden box if it weren’t for the carving and scroll work on in, Steven would have thought it plain. But laying his eyes upon the casket of his ancestor was moving in a way that he had never felt before.

                “Look at the intricacy of the carving, and the scrollwork,” Katie said, her voice soft and full of awe. She held up her torch to get a better look and saw the remains of what was once a wreath of flowers lying in the sarcophagus. “I’ve never seen such detail.” She looked up at her professor with a giddy grin.

                “I don’t think anyone has. I’ve never seen its’ like,” he said, looking at the carved lettering on the lit. “This casket hasn’t been seen in almost fifteen hundred years. And no one has laid eyes on this tomb in over a thousand years.” The assistants all breathed sighs of awe at the beauty of its simple design, but time was one thing they didn’t have enough of. “Alright folks, let’s get it out of there and back up to the lab tent, where we can get a better look at it.”

The group nodded and with careful hands slipped straps under the casket between the elevated plinths that held the casket above the stone bottom of the sarcophagus to prevent rot. Then they carefully lifted the casket out of its resting place. It felt lighter than it should have, but unbeknownst to them, Steven was using his powers to lighten the load. After they lifted it out of the stone sarcophagus, they carefully made their way to the great hall, through the door, and placed it on the metal stands. They added more straps, and pulled them together with a ring. Once they had finished the professor looked up to the large opening made by the now open light shafts.

                “Lower the hook, Donny,” he called up. A moment later a crane hook was lowered though the opening and low enough for them to hook the ring to it. “Alright,” he called up again after making sure the clasp was fast, “raise him up!”

~**~

* * *

 

The temporary lab set up on the green outside the tomb was impressive to say the least. It had all the comforts of a modern lab with examination equipment and a clean room for x-rays and decontamination. It is here where the archeologists roll the trolley and casket, and begin the careful process of removing the dirt and detritus off the cover and out of the scrollwork. It takes them over an hour to pick, brush and clean the caked in rotted flowers and dirt from the inscription.

                “Alright, lads,” Connor said as he looked over the cover once more, “Let’s have a look at it, shall we?” Connor brought over a notebook and pen, and went about copying the inscription. Most professors would have made a rubbing, but the soft ridges of the scrollwork would have made it illegible. It took him only a moment to copy the runes, and then handed them off to Katie and Steven to translate. Steven, who had been taught the Tangwar since he was little, knew it a little better than an academic, but he kept his mouth shut and pointed out the glaring errors in translation only when necessary.

                “Alright,” Katie said, “I think we’ve got it.”

                “Is it him,” one of the assistants asked, “is it really the King of the Numenoreans?” Katie shot him a scathing look and relished in his quailing expression before continuing.

                “It says this: _here now lieth the earthly form of our lord and King, Arthadan Son of Amandil. May he rest in peace, until we need him again._ That’s it, that’s all it says.” Katie looked over to the professor who looked even more enraptured than before. “What now?”

                “Now we break the seal, and see what’s inside,” he said. Connor went to the table and carefully picked up a chisel and hammer. Steven at first balked, but his own curiosity got the better of him, and he grabbed a second chisel. Connor grinned at him, before he went about carefully chipping away the wax seal around the lip of the lid; sealing the casket air tight. It was slow going at first but then they got a chisel under the lip, and began to pry it up. There was a slight hiss as air was sucked into the casket, and after some careful prying they opened the casket that had been sealed for 1500 years. They removed the lid as one and carried it over to a table for further study.

A sudden intake of breath from Steven drew the archeologists back to the casket and the remains within. Steven gaped in awe, stunned beyond reason, as he gazed upon the face of Arthadan, untouched by time or decay. In fact it looked as if he had been buried just that morning, not 1500 years before. What’s more is that he looked just like Steve, just as the paintings and statues had depicted him. But whereas Steve was young, full of vim and vigor, at the prime of his life, Arthadan’s once golden locks were shot with silver and the lines of age and care had begun to crease his face. He looked peaceful though, his face far younger than Steven would have guessed, and the same gentle smile on the sarcophagus lid graced his careworn face.

His clothing was an exact duplicate of the ones in the castle not far from the tomb, and his armor was a quality replica of it as well. It was ceremonial in quality, but Steven knew from the writings and history that Arthadan had worn it into battle many times. This one was pristine, where as the one in the castle was worn and had been repaired in spots, where it had been torn and cut. A replica of his sword was on his chest, clasped in his hands, just as it was shown on the sarcophagus, and his Great Silver Kite Shield lay on his legs. The winged helmet lay at his feet and his cloak wrapped around his shoulders and over his feet. On his left hand is a copy of the signet ring of his house on his pointer finger, and a simple gold wedding band wrapped around his ring finger. Just as on the great lid had shown, clasped in his left hand was a simple silver cross, on a thin chain of Mithril.

Steven could not believe the level of preservation that had been done to the body, and was stunned by the beauty and quality of the craftsmanship of even a copy of his armor and sword.

                “Look at the level of preservation,” he said, awe and respect in his voice, “he looks as if he died yesterday.”

                “Aye,” Connor said his voice breathless and filled with awe, “that it is. They knew what they were doin’, those Numenoreans, that’s for sure.” Katie ran her hands over the fine silk brocade along the edge of the velvet tunic.

                “And for a replica of the original armor and cloth, it is astonishingly well done,” Steven remarked. Connor nodded in a daze, enraptured by the armor and clothing himself; almost ignoring Steven in favor of studying the workmanship. Steven rolled his eyes at the academics gaping at the corpse of a dead king, when he noticed an inscription on the sword that didn’t match the original.

                “ _In life, thou once were, now in death/ so shall to life he be given once more. /When need is dire/ Hope waned and lost/ Remember thou Luthien and Beren/ whom life was given anew/ and give life once more/ Where life is gone. /These Words now Spoken/ Power to them given/ Rise o Lord of Numenor/ and Sleep no more.”_ Steven spoke the words aloud and as he spoke them, his voice began to echo and reverberate, great Power flowing through them and him, as he read them. As he finished the inscription, he felt a power flow through him and out of him, and he stumbled. He looked up and saw a light emit from the sword. The light seemed to come from the words, glowing like the Ithildin inscription on the tomb doors, but soon it was not the only thing glowing. Arthadan’s body took on the same golden white glow, his whole form lit from within.

                “What’s going on,” Katie asked as she staggered back. She screamed as a great rumble of thunder broke the sky, and the tent began to shake with a sudden wind. The sky darkened and lightning flashed, and the heaven’s rumbled and cracked with thunder. All at once Steven felt a great force take hold of him from within. He opened his mouth and it was not his voice that came out, but a Voice full of Power and strength. It rang out of him like the blast of a trumpet, a command that would not be ignored nor denied.

                “ ** _Wake!_** ”

Arthadan’s eyes flew open and he gasped for breath, his back arching up from within the casket, as life was breathed back into him by some unknown force. Arthadan sat up and looked down at his hands, no longer grasping his sword, but still holding the cross on the silver chain. He looked up, and about him in confusion before he set eyes on Steven. A broad smile spilt his handsome face, and his eyes once more sparkled with joy and life. And there Steven stood, stunned to muteness: Arthadan lived.

TBC…

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC…  
> End note: dun, dun, da… cliffhanger! Sorry, but this was getting very long. I hope you like it, and I will load up the drawings for the tomb and the sarcophagus as soon as I can, but for now you’ll have to live with the Doors of Arthadan first.  
> Next chapter is a continuation of the last, and a bit more consequences.  
> I Hope you like it and give me a kudos and review, because they always make me feel good. Yay art work! I will upload the drawing I have for the previous story, later. It’s only a figure, but I hope you’ll all like it.


	4. Return of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthadan returns!  
> Happy 100th Birthday Cap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you all like that little twist in the last chapter, because this is the second part of that arch and a continuation of the second and first chapter plots. So many plot lines, thank God for outlines!  
> again Happy birthday, Steve!  
> I hope you all like this, and please review. Constructive criticism is wanted, but bashing will be deleted.  
> On to the Fic

~*~*~

* * *

 

It was laughter that brought Steven out of his stupor, laughter that sounded so familiar it was eerie. Arthadan began to laugh in that same joyous wide mouthed laugh that Steve had once used. It was almost as if Steve was the one sitting in the casket, rather than Arthadan.

                ‘ _My God,’_ Steven thought, ‘ _they even sound the same._ ’ Tears watered his eyes as he remembered Steve’s wide smile and trilling laugh, almost like a giggle, and for a moment he felt at a loss for words. Arthadan heaved himself out of the casket, as if he had only been lying down for a nap, gripping the tall sides to leaver himself up and over the side; leaving the sword and shield behind to lie in the interior.  He landed on his feet with all the nimble reflexes and grace of an elf, his heavy frame barely making the floor tremble as he landed. He stood before Steven, with a wide friendly smile, joy twinkling in his eyes, and all at once Steven was forced to make comparisons between the mighty Numenorean Lord and the Heir of his house, Steve Rogers. Arthadan stood slightly shorter that Steve, and even then it was only a fraction of an inch difference, and his shoulders and chest only a little slimmer than the Super Soldier’s had been. They had the same Vanyar blue eyes, and sun kissed honey gold hair; the same heroic square jaw and strong chin that marked Steve’s family for generations.

                ‘ _Well,’_ Steven thought, _‘I guess I now know where it came from.’_ Arthadan had the same chiseled high cheeks as well as the same nose, and brow line. Everything was the same, right down to the way he smiled, and the result was heartbreakingly eerie, so much so that Steven suddenly felt as if he was staring at his old friend again and not a Numenorean Lord of great renown born thousands of years before Steve was even a thought.

Steven was so caught up in his shock and emotional upheaval that he was startled when Arthadan laughed again and pulled him into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around Steven and engulfing his form. Steven held himself stiff as a board as he was pulled into the barrel chest of the mighty lord, and finally heard the strong heartbeat over the roaring in his own ears. He then jolted in the Numenorean’s embrace when he felt the brush of another mind on his own.

                _(‘Fear not, little one,’)_ came the voice of a man in his mind. It was so similar to Steve’s, and yet not. It was slightly deeper and was colored by a strange accent that almost sounded English, but with a strange lilt to it that Steven had occasionally heard in Steve’s voice. With a start, Steven realized that this was a Numenorean accent colored by elvish upbringing. _(‘All will be well,’)_ Arthadan said. Steven realized in that moment that Steve was truly a Numenorean, and that no other person could have been given the Serum without the ill effects like Schmidt. _(‘You have my eternal thanks for waking me from my death sleep. I cannot thank you enough.’)_ Steven slowly relaxed in Arthadan’s embrace and brought his arms up cautiously to wrap them around the elder man’s waist.

                _(‘There’s so much I need to tell you,’)_ Steven said, _(‘but there is not enough time.’)_ Steven pulled back and rested his forehead on Arthadan’s brow. He opened his eyes and looked into the ones that mirrored his own in color and depth, before he shut them again and opened his mind to the Numenorean king. Slowly and with caution, Steven showed Arthadan everything he could about where he was, the year, about the state of the surviving Numenoreans, and some more recent events. Arthadan took all the information in with the calm and dignity of a man raised amongst the High Elves of Eregion, when all the while all he wanted to do was break down into tears at the shattered state of his once mighty people. Finally Steven showed him Steve, and what had happened to him, and Arthadan could take no more. He pulled back and turned to the stunned professor, the interns and assisting grad students with a calm smile. Arthadan’s face was an image of quiet calm dignity, every inch the son of Numenor and the Student of Celebrimbor depicted in history.

                “I thank you all for what you have done for me,” he said to them and Steven as was shocked to hear it aloud as it was in his mind. “Might I have a moment alone with Steven?” he asked.

 They all nod complaisantly, and file out of the room; numb with shock at the miracle that they witnessed. When they are finally gone, Steven quickly raised his arms and summoned his powers to gather Arthadan’s things to him. Once that is done, Arthadan watched in childlike wonder as Steven rested his hand on the ground and from the very dust and earth itself created a clone of Arthadan; fashioning for it clothes and armor, before raising it up and gently laying it to rest in the casket.

                “How,” Arthadan asked with awe. Steven looked at him and struggled to explain.

                “It’s like making a doll, only its flesh and bone, and not wood, or clay,” he said. Steven furrowed his brow as he searched for an explanation. “I can manipulate matter, molecules and atoms, and twist them into forms and shapes I want. Making those things, that’s easy; they don’t do anything. They just are. They don’t breath they don’t think, they’re not real. Without a spark of life, without a mind they breathe and move but they don’t really live.” Arthadan puzzled on this but couldn’t quite grasp it. “It’s difficult to explain to someone who can’t see what I see. I’ll show you later, but right now we need to put some distance between us and this place, before word gets out. And I want your return to be a surprise.” Steven smirked and Arthadan grinned before he chuckled with laughter.

                “Alright, lad,” he said with a rueful smile, “I trust you. Lead the way.” Steven smiled and felt honored to have the trust of someone so important. As they left the tent Steven, pushed down the memories of the others of what had happened. In their dazed and confused state, Arthadan and Steven were able to leave without being seen or missed.

Once they are in the car, Steven realized that there was no way that Arthadan could get all the way to Brooklyn without being notice in the clothes he was wearing. So a quick stop back to the Rogers manor was in order. Arthadan looked around at the passing scenery with amazement and wonder, a childlike smile never leaving his lips. Steven smiled himself and drove as fast as he dared to get to the estate before he needed to get on his flight.

He pulled up to the doors and let himself out, only to rush around and open Arthadan’s door. The aged Numenorean smiled graciously at him and stepped out of the car with practiced grace. Steven felt a wash of respect at the display, to which he quickly quashed, as it came from the part that observed the movements because of his years training the Widows. Arthadan’s quick and graceful movements would have put any of his students to shame, but Arthadan was raised in a royal household and spent his youth and adolescence with elves. The King of the Numenoreans quickly took stock of his location before walking purposefully toward the great doors of the house. Steven rushed up the steps and lifted the large door knocker and let it drop. The reverberating sound was akin to a large bell being struck, and it didn’t take long for the Steward to open the door to greet him. The smile on his face as he opened the door suddenly froze, and dropped into a look of awe.

The man that stood in the door way clutching to the frame for dear life, was not the same man that Steve and the others had met those forty-four years before. Elendur, son of Arandur had aged hard, as if the news of the death of his lord, had drained the vibrancy and hope out of his body. In this moment, aged Elendur looked young and full of wonder as he gazed upon the form of his returned King.

                “Oh, God; Dear God,” he gasped in fervent prayer, “Please say this is not a vision of my age.” Elendur lost the battle with his strength and fell to his knees, still clutching the door frame, and gazing up at Arthadan in wonder. “Please say this is not a dream.” Arthadan stepped forward in concern and dropped to his knees to help Elendur back to his feet. Arthadan’s strong hands gently gripped Elendur by the arm and he wrapped his arm around Elendur’s chest to raise the man up. The touch seemed to break something in that moment, for Elendur let himself to be pulled up to stand, before he reached out a tentative hand to touch Arthadan’s face. “Is it you,” he asked, “is…is it really…” tears began to form in the stewards eyes, as his fingers brushed over Arthadan’s cheek and brow; touching the smooth metal of the circlet upon his head. “Arthadan,” he breathed, almost like a prayer; reverence unmistakable. “My… my lord… My King,” Elendur bowed his head, “what does my King command of me?” Arthadan smiled softly.

                “A hot bath would be nice,” he said with a cheeky smile, “and some new clothes. I don’t think it is quite proper to be wearing one’s burial garb in public.” Elendur raised his head and smiled joyously, tears pouring from his eyes.

                “Father, who is it,” a younger man asked before stepping into view. He was younger than Elendur, by several years, but he was most definitely the Steward’s son. When he saw Arthadan holding up his father, the young man’s face when white with shock and he stumbled to his knees in a bow. “Arthadan,” he said in reverence, “my King!” Elendur looked over his shoulder at his son with tears of joy overflowing from his eyes,

                “The King has returned.”

~~**~*

* * *

 

Considering that a few hours ago he was dead and buried, Arthadan cleaned up very nicely. He refused to cut his near shoulder length hair, but he had tied it back nicely to the nape of his neck. He was freshly shaved and wearing clothes that, while very Numenorean still looked very fashionable. It was a balancing act between Arthadan’s Numenorean looks and clothing style and the more modern slant, and to be frank he pulled it off very well. Steven couldn’t believe how much he man looked and even acted like Steve. It was in the way he smiled and laughed, the way he held himself, and even the cadence of his voice that reminded Steven so much of his namesake. But in the end it was the differences that held the two apart. Steve had a very Brooklyn accent that he could not get rid of; the slight nasally quality that colored his laugh and the way he talked, whereas Arthadan was pure Numenorean. His voice held the quality of someone who grew up speaking Westernesse and the High Elvish often. Steve carried himself like he didn’t know what to do with his over six foot frame, and had the tendency to hunch in on himself; a carryover from his years as a small man. But Arthadan walked and held himself as every inch the Prince of Numenor and the later King of the Numenoreans in exile. His gait was smooth and graceful, his every movement precise and controlled, there was no awkwardness to his movements nor his bearing. 

Steven smiled at Arthadan’s calm placation of the Steward and his family’s prostration, insisting that they needn’t bow to him or call him “My King” all the time. Steven saw a gentle hearted good man under the wrappings of a stern warrior, and wise King. Steven turned away from the group and back to the phone, making special care to scramble the location, before he dialed the international extension for New York. He breathed calmly and deeply to get his frayed nerves under control. He would need every inch of his patience to handle Stark today. The phone ringed several times before it was answered.

                “Hello, Stark residence, how may I help you,” the voice of an aging man with a British accent came through the speaker. Steven smiled.

                “Hello, Jarvis,” Steven said.

                “Master Steven,” Jarvis exclaimed, his voice joyous. “To what do we owe the pleasure of such a call?” Steven smirked ruefully and shook his head.

                “Never could get anything past you, now could I, old bean,” Steven replied, jovially. Jarvis chuckled on the other end and Steven allowed himself a smile, before his voice became as stern as his face. “I need to talk to Howard, Jarvis, as soon as possible.” The aged butler sensed the shift in mood and became more professional.

                “Of course, Master Steven,” he said, “I think he might be in his office. I’ll connect you to him; Just one moment.” Steven heard the click of a hold button, and waited patiently for the call to reconnect. Several seconds later there was another click, and Steven heard Stark’s voice on the other end.

                “What is it now, Jarvis,” he said, and he sounded annoyed with something, or someone. “I haven’t got the time for private calls. I’ve got a deadline to meet.”

                “Sir, Mr. Steven is on the line for you,” Jarvis said, “it sounds rather urgent.” There was a scramble on the other end, a thump and then a shout of pain, before the receiver clicked again. Steven chuckled. Howard must have had him on speaker, and fell out of his chair in his haste to grab the phone and take it off. Howard really hadn’t changed, not in the ways that mattered.

                “Holy Christ, Jarvis, you don’t tell someone that in the middle of a meeting,” Stark barked, and Steven chuckled. Jarvis had already disconnected his line, most likely to avoid that little quip.

                “I could call back if you’re busy, Stark,” Steven said nonchalantly. There was another bang and exclamation of pain along with several explanative curses that Steven hadn’t heard in years. “I ain’t a little kid any more, Stark. You can swear in front of me.” Steven chuckled.

                “I do that and your pops will kill me for sure,” Stark mumbled. Steven grinned and suppressed his laughter for a moment to gather his wits again. “So what’s up, kid? To what do I owe the pleasure of your call? You rarely do these days. I saw your little escapades in the paper today. I must say you’re really brining on the heat, kid. The Russkiy spooks must _love_ you.” The infamous Stark sarcasm, sharp as ever; Steven smiled, but looked over to his briefcase and was reminded of his reason for calling.

                “I’m heading back to New York,” he said, all trace of humor gone from his voice, “my flight leaves in less than an hour. I need you to meet me at Ada’s place when I get there.” There was the squeak of an office chair and the sound of the phone shifting, and Steven knew he got Stark’s attention.

                “Why,” he said, “not that I’m not glad you’re comin’ home, kid, it’s just we all thought you weren’t comin’ home till this was all done.” Steven heard the unsaid words Howard meant to say, ‘ _we thought you weren’t coming home at all.’_ He ignored that, and focused on what was important. Steven’s eyes shifted from Arthadan to the briefcase and back again.

                “Something’s come up,” he said. “I’ve got a package with me that I picked up in Russia, that I need you to look at. And I just picked one up in Ireland. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.” Steven heard a sharp inhale of breath, and a sigh on the other end.

                “Okay, kid,” Stark said, “I’ll be there.”

                “Good,” Steven said, “‘cause I think what I’ve got is gonna change everything.”

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: sorry again with the cliffy. I actually marked this to be the end of a chapter. And I am not gonna merge it with the next because it will be too long.  
> Lots have happened, and please don’t kill me for the resurrection of Arthadan; I always planned for him to come back. It’s important and part of the plot, you’ll see eventually. Next story more than this.


	5. Old Wounds Never Heal Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthadan meets Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you all like this little character arc, because it is very important, also tissues ahead. You are warned, this is gonna definitely have Bucky sad feels.  
> sorry this took so long. I had real life things to do first.  
> This is going to be a long chapter, so please don’t kill me. I just realized I slated this story for 28 chapters! No way in hell, am I doing twenty eight chapters, so it’s going to get a little mushed until I can figure it out. I really want to get a lot of this out before Steve’s big triple digit B-Day, and maybe the next part started as well. I know you all are in agony over the latest Avengers movie, so consider this a good place to know it won’t happen. Nobody’s going to die!  
> I’ve rambled enough, no to the Fic!

~*~*~*

* * *

 

New York is nothing like Arthadan had ever seen. In fact, nothing he had seen since waking was like anything before. Arthadan had grown up during the last years of the Numenorean Empire. He had seen the rightful queen come to power and he had seen the Usurper seize the throne from her. He was lucky, and had been in Middle Earth studying under Celebrimbor when the worst of the suffering of the Faithfull had occurred. He had seen Numenor rise in might and hubris before it ultimately fell under Ar-Pharazon’s rule. Everything after he and his people had fled and arrived in Terra was so different. And so very primitive to their eyes, but now, Arthadan could say with absolute surety that Numenorean’s were no longer technologically and militarily more advanced than the rest of the world. This almost frightened him, but he surprisingly was not frightened. There was an assurance in him that knew that his people would be the pillars of might the world would respect. He knew not where it came from, only that it was there. So he had faith, and allowed Steven to take him from his home in the western Isle to this New World.

 Arthadan chuckled when he read the historical account of the discovery of America. His people had sailed the seas for centuries during the Roman era, searching for a new home. They charted the seas and the lands they discovered, and America was one such land. Granted it was fair and wide, full of room and wild untamed wilderness, it was occupied, and the Numenoreans’ were not going to displace another people for land they had no right to. They wrote off the region and left the people be, and focused on the lands in the east of Europe; shelving their maps, charting the land and seaways, and leaving them be. (Apparently one such chart had found its way into the hands of an ambitious Norseman, who later started the great Viking raids.) It was there that they found the land Arthadan had seen in his vision days after the death of their Lord. It was sparsely populated and had lush soil and plentiful forests. It was wilderness but it was one they were sure they could tame someday.

Arthadan looked over at his companion, Steven, and wondered even more. The boy looked so much like his young Joshua that Arthadan knew him to be a descendant. There was so much about the boy that was a mystery, and even more that brooked curiosity from him such as he had only felt when in Celebrimbor’s presence. They boy had a gift with Osanwe and Arthadan felt that this was only a glimpse of the breadth of his power. There was an air about him that was filled with sorrow and barely controlled anger; so much like himself in those early years after Numenor fell, and when he thought Celebrimbor dead. Time and the presence of God had soothed away his wrath and was a balm to his sorrow. Patience and calm now filled the quiet of his mind and sealed up all the fissures of his heart.

Steven looked over at him and offered a weak smile; before he turned back to controlling the contraption he called an Automobile. Arthadan smiled sorrowfully at the young man, and turned his attention to the passing streets.  Brooklyn was a maze of tall brick buildings and more rundown looking older buildings. Walls were covered with defacing paint and flaking and faded posters. It was a sorry sight in some places, and Arthadan wondered why Steven’s parents would live in a town that was slowly fading into ruin. They turned down a more well-kept road and suddenly the buildings became more clean and the streets less littered. As they continued down the block the buildings became nicer and older, but more well-kept, and it was not long before they pulled onto a block where the buildings had window boxes with flowers growing in them. Tall buildings were soon replaced by fine houses, and cement steps were replaced by front lawns and wrought iron fences, and gates. They continued down this block until they stopped before a house that was obviously well maintained and groomed, even compared to the houses on the block. It was far older than some of the houses, but it was also more maintained. The decorative shutters were coated with a fresh gloss of new white paint and the lawn and shrubbery was groomed to perfection. There was a small garden of flowers and fruit bearing plants in front of the left window, and a tall apple tree growing in the right corner of the front yard; away from the fence, but not so much that the branches didn’t hang over, scattering flower blossoms on the sidewalk. Arthadan spotted a large tree behind the house with hanging branches; an old cheery tree.

Arthadan smiled at the image the house showed on a whole: warm inviting well-kept home, with the signs of a happy family, living within. But Arthadan also spotted the sorrow within. A banner pole and flag were erected on the left side of the lawn, and the flags it bore were half-mast. One was a bright flag with a field of blue dotted with stars, and red and white stripes; the other was black and white with the silhouette of a man on a ring of white, in the background was a tower. Ringed over the top were letters “POW * MIA” and beneath the words “You are not forgotten”. There was a smaller flag beneath theses bearing the words “107th Infantry of New York”, and beneath the flags was a carefully groomed bed of flowers some in pots others planted in the bed.  In the pots were Alstroemeria, or the Peruvian lily, and bedded were the Statice flower or the Rosemary, un-bloomed but growing. Forget-me-nots and daffodils were bedded and slowly popping up, and a carefully pruned ivy grew up a trellis behind them. A magnolia tree was planted close by and was slowly coming into bloom, small as it was.

Arthadan knew of the symbolism these flowers all carried: the Lily was friendship, the rosemary remembrance, as were the Forget-me-nots. The Daffodils were hope, and the Magnolia tree, perseverance. This along with the flags described a clear message: this family had lost a dear friend, and remembered him still. They hoped for return, and persevered through hardship, and the ivy was eternal faithfulness to this lost friend. Arthadan turned to his companion, and waited for some answer.

                “This is it,” he said softly, “home.” Arthadan waited for more, but Steven’s sad eyes hardened and he opened the door. Arthadan looked down at the door on his side and found the latch. He opened the door and stepped out of the automobile.

As they walked up to the front gate Arthadan saw a small torch burning in the center of the garden with a small plaque. “Dedicated to Capt. Steven G. Rogers, US Army: We will never forget; we will never stop waiting”. Arthadan looked at the sight and then asked the burning question in his heart.

                “Who was he,” he asked, bringing Steven to a halt. “Who was this man that left such a scar on your family?” Steven stood silent for a long moment, before he answered.

                “His name was Steve,” he said. “He was my Ada’s best friend growing up, and my Godfather. He was everything anyone could ever want to live up to, and more. He was kind, he was gracious, he was humble, and he never gave up. He was … a good man.” Steven turned and Arthadan saw a deep wellspring of sorrow reflected in the pools of his eyes. There were no tears, just a bleak acceptance of a truth; a truth that brought more pain than tears could heal.

                “I am sorry,” Arthadan said, “I didn’t mean to bring up an old pain.” Steven smiled softly, grateful and understanding.

                “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s an old wound; it never healed right.” Steven paused, and hesitated. “Steve… he was the last of the House of Rogers. There’s no one left, Arthadan. The House of Arthadan ended with him and with him all our hopes and that of our people.” Arthadan knew this but it was still a throbbing pain to bear.

                “There is always hope, Mellon,” Arthadan said, and Steven’s smile became more genuine and less brittle.

They approached the door and walked up the cobbled path to the steps, Arthadan saw apprehension return to Steven’s form. Arthadan stopped him before they reached the door and turned him around to face him.

                “What is wrong, penneth,” Arthadan asked. Steven smiled wryly but the apprehension never left his face.

                “My Ada,” he said cautiously, “he … he might not react too well… to you.” Steven looked up and into Arthadan’s eyes. “You look so like him, Steve, or rather he looked like you.” Steven chuckled but his eyes became sorrowful again, and he looked away. “Steve was taken from us so long ago, but … he touched all of us, and his death touched even more.” There were tears in Steven’s eyes now, and a far off look in his eyes, as memory took over and played some image in his mind. Arthadan gently touched Steven’s shoulder and brushed his mind.

                _(‘Show me,’)_ he asked, and with eyes full of tears, Steven nodded. He closed his eyes, tears escaping down his lashes and face, and opened his mind. Arthadan was bombarded with the memories of Steve Rogers, and for a brief moment, he knew him as Steven knew him: a dear friend and beloved Uncle. The images were from many different times in Steven’s life, and with them were the sounds and smells of a man long gone. Arthadan felt grief like a sword through his chest when he heard Steve’s voice, quietly reassuring the woman he loved in his last moments, even as the danger grew. Promises made that he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep, if only to save her the pain of his fear. _(‘Enough,’)_ he said, tears of shared grief filling his eyes. _(‘I’ve seen enough.’)_ Arthadan paused as the images and sounds stopped. _(‘Thank you.’)_ Arthadan pulled away with a smile of understanding on his tear streaked face.

                “Steve was everything to him,” Steven said, “he was as close to Steve as if they were brothers. Then he was just… gone. Please don’t open that wound again, it was hard enough to get it to heal at all.” Arthadan nodded.

                “I will try,” he said softly. Steven smiled a small smile and opened the door. “Ada,” he called out, “I’m home!” there was the sound of someone setting down dishes and silverware before footsteps could be heard approaching from the kitchen.

                “Stevie,” someone, Steven’s Ada, called out. There was joy in his voice, joy Arthadan was sad to know he would erase. “I had no idea you were coming home. You didn’t call, or I would have had something special for lunch made. I thought you wouldn’t leave Europe until HYDRA was gone for good.”

                “Something came up,” Steve said, his face grim and sad. “I couldn’t tell you something like this over the phone.” The footsteps approached the threshold of the door, and Steven’s Ada turned the corner.

                “Something like what….” The man abruptly stopped when he turned the corner and saw Arthadan. He face went pale as milk and he stumbled into the doorframe, leaning onto it, and clutching it for dear life. “Steve?” he breathed; his eyes wide and lost. Arthadan looks saddened for a moment, sorry to destroy the blossoming hope in the young man’s eyes, before he answered.

                “No,” Arthadan said, regretful and mourning the loss of light in the young man’s eyes his denial brings. “I am sorry.”

                “Then who…” Bucky asked his eyes searching his son’s for an answer, and the younger man didn’t hesitate to give him one.

                “Ada, this is Arthadan,” he introduced him, “Arthadan, this is my Ada: James Buchanan Barnes, everyone calls him Bucky. He was Steve’s closes friend.” Bucky looked at the mirror of his close friend, and Arthadan looked back. The boy’s own pain and shock masked Arthadan’s. He looked just like his little Joshua, the same dark hair and soulful blue gray eyes. Those soulful eyes are so lost for a moment before Bucky regained his composure, if only the façade of it, and invited them inside.

The home was just as lovely and well cared for inside as well as out, with a coat rack and stand for shoes by the door, and a well maintained rug in the center of the entry hall. To the left of the door was the staircase, dividing the house in half, and to the right was the kitchen and dining room. The living room and family room were to the elf and through a doorway under the stairs. Arthadan could see there was a room under the banister, and a den off the living room.  Arthadan looked up and could see the second floor banister and hall that led to the bedrooms. All in all, it was a well put together house with a loving and caring atmosphere.

                “Is there anything I can get you to drink,” Bucky asked as he led them into the living room. Arthadan saw the forced calm in his form and in his voice, but declined from saying anything further.

                “No, thank you,” Arthadan said and Steven shook his head.

                “Where’s Nelyo,” Steven asked.

                “Upstairs, with Huan,” Bucky answered. Arthadan raised an eyebrow and Steven sheepishly projected the image of a large golden Hound and a very tall red haired Elf lord.

                “Has Stark arrived,” Steven asked in lieu of answering more questions. Bucky shook his head.

                “No, he hasn’t,” Bucky answered, but almost as soon as he did, the doorbell rang. “Speak of the devil,” he said with a wry smile. Bucky moved to open the door but the tall redhead, Nelyo came down the stairs along with a gigantic hound. “Stark won’t take long, Arthadan.” The hound padded into the room and came up to Arthadan with a wagging tail.

                “Well, hello there, big fellow,” Arthadan said with a smile. Huan woofed and shoved his nose into Arthadan’s face. The Numenorean laughed, and shoved the playful hound back. Huan barked and play-bowed, his bum still high, tail wagging asking him to play. “Alright, big fellow; I’ll play.” Arthadan looked over to Steven, who smiled and pointed to a large rope toy carefully placed in a toy bin. Arthadan grabbed the toy and began a tug of war with the massive hound.

~*~*

* * *

 

Nelyo heard the doorbell ring, and closed his book, when Huan picked up his head and let out a happy bark. The red haired Noldor smiled at the playful antics of the old hound and levered himself off his bed and out of the room; dropping his book onto a dresser on the way out the door. Huan followed him down the steps and to the door, but diverged and headed to the living room instead. Maedhros head voices in the room but let them be. Huan could handle it, and besides he could sense Steven’s presence; a surprised, but not an unhappy one. Nelyo opened the front door to find none other than Howard Stark standing at the door.

                “Howard,” Maedhros said with a surprised smile, “what brings you here?” the ever impatient Howard Stark, quickly pushed his way past the tall elf and into the entry room. Nelyo stood in the door for a second with a perturbed expression before he shut the door. “Please, come in, Howard,” he said sarcastically, “make yourself at home.” the look of annoyance was ignored or missed by the inventor, who quickly pulled his overcoat off and hung it on the coatrack. While in the process of removing his outer layers, he began to speak to Steven, waking towards and entering the living room without looking.

                “What in the name of God’s green earth was so important as to drag you away from you bloodbath crusade in the East, Steven?” he asked, removing his gloves. “And why couldn’t it have waited until…” Howard looked up and saw Arthadan playing with Huan, “tomorrow.”

Howard stopped dead cold in his tracks. His face went as pale as death and his eyes became wide and shocked. He clutched his gloves tightly in his clenched fist to his chest, and gaped openly at the man before him. All in all, he had the look of a man about to have a heart attack or faint. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound escaped. His hand rose to point at Arthadan, as he looked to Steven and Bucky.

Bucky saved him further shock, and put the man out of his misery.

                “It’s not him, Stark. It’s not Steve,” He said. Howard turned shocked and confused eyes to Bucky’s face, and saw the grim shock and sorrow etched there.

                “Then who…” Howard attempted to ask, but his words failed him.

                “Howard, this is Arthadan, Son of Amandil,” Bucky said, and the man in question detangled himself from the hound to stand. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes and brushed the dog hair off his pants. “The Last great Lord of Numenor, and the last of his house born in Numenor. He is Steve’s ancestor by 14 generations from father to son.” Arthadan stood tall and proud before the aging inventor, and smiled. He bowed his head slightly in greeting, and raised his right hand to rest over his heart.

Nelyo watched the proceedings with detached shock, but growing awe and respect. Arthadan was well loved by the elves, his people chief among them, and his nephew most of all. Celebrimbor had told many of the elves that had come to the Halls how much he cared for the Numenorean. There was great respect but also paternal love. To see the man his nephew had come to love so much was like seeing Fingon again after they parted in Araman: it warmed him and brought a happy smile to his face.

                “Pleased to meet you, Arthadan,” Howard said, holding out his hand, his voice still numb from shock, “Howard Stark, of Stark Industries.” Arthadan smiled and gripped Stark’s hand with his own, and shook firmly.

                “It is good to meet you, Mr. Stark,” he said, “I’ve heard much about you.”

                “Good thing’s, I hope,” Howard joked, and Arthadan chuckled with a wide grin.

                “Yes, yes; very good things,” Arthadan chuckled. “Steven told me about the work you did for Steve, my grandson,” Arthadan’s smile became more somber and slightly melancholy. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. You have no idea how much such a thing means to me.”  Stark smiled softly and began to chat with Arthadan about the future, and what he thought about how things had changed. “They’ve changed, Mr. Stark, but in some ways, I don’t think for the better.”

                “How so,” Howard asked.

                “My people,” Arthadan said, his expression mournful and pained, “they are dying. Numenoreans used to outnumber the general population of this world, and now,” he sighed, his head bowed and a tear ran down his face. He looked up at Howard and his eyes were brimming with tears. “My people are scattered throughout the world. They are hunted, and slaughtered in droves like animals, and above all, they are divided; leaderless. We are become a lost people. What once was so great and mighty as to challenge the might of Rome and bring it to heel, is now forgotten and lost to time. I would have my people rise again; to rise above the height and glory of all their forefathers since the days of Numenor.” He looked away, his eyes distant, full of sorrow, and said: “This nothingness is destroying us.”

Steven looked away, feeling Arthadan’s great pain and sorrow for his people. Numenoreans were once so great and mighty that not even Rome at the height of her strength and power was able to rival them. For Arthadan to wake up to this being faded memory of strength and might, was a pain Steven couldn’t imaging he could bear. But Arthadan had the strength his people had forgotten, and the will to pull his people out of the darkness of nothingness and into the light of glory and renown once more.

                “As much as I am enjoying this little chit chat, Howard,” Steven interrupted, “he’s not the reason I’m here; I picked him up on the way back: This is,” he said and lifted the briefcase into view. Steven glanced over at Arthadan and projected his sympathy to the King. Arthadan was gracious and nodded in understanding. _(‘Your people will raise again, Arthadan,’)_ Steven projected, _(‘with you at the helm, they can do anything. Your return at this time is no mere chance, you were meant to return. The Soviet Union is collapsing, and they will do anything to cover their debts, even sell you the land your people were promised.’)_ Arthadan looked at Steven with shock, but soon a hopeful smile graced his features and made his aged face young again with hope anew.  “Howard, shall we continue this conversation in private,” Steven said and pulled the man into the Den.

                “Whoa,” Howard exclaimed, as Steven tossed him inside and pulled the door shut, only slightly, so he could keep an eye on things outside. “Okay, Steven, what’s this all about? Huh,” he asked, and Steven thrust the files from the briefcase into Howard’s face. The inventor took them from Steven and started to look them over. There was confusion on his face at first, and then realization struck and he went as white as a sheet. He looked up from the pages to find Steven glaring at him with his arms crossed.

                “What do you have to say for yourself, Howard,” he asked, his glare intensifying. Howard gulped and looked back at the papers, trying to prove himself wrong in vain.

                “We kept the egg safe, Steven” he said, as he looked up from the pages. He placed them on the desk and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You have to believe me, if I had known that the location was compromised, I would have had it moved.”

                “I don’t care about that,” Steven ground out through clenched teeth, and unfolded his arms, “what _I_ want to know is how you got your hands on it in the _first place_?” Howard opened his mouth and shut it again after Steven’s glare intensified. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. Howard leaned on the desk, almost sitting on it, and ran a hand over his face.

                “It was a long time ago, Steven,” he said wearily. He looked up at the younger man, and Steven suddenly saw just how much the years had aged him, from his now ash colored hair, to the lines around his eyes and on his brow. “You remember when Steve came back from that double date with Peggy and your parents?” Steven nodded. “And he started… you know.” Howard shuffled his hands around awkwardly, and Steven smiled at his embarrassment.

                “It’s called ovulation, Howard,” he said just to make him squirm. Howard shuddered, and cringed.

                “Yeah that,” Howard said, and continued, “I harvested an egg, with Steve’ permission. After Steve…” Howard paused, unable to say the words, and muscled through, “After he left us, when he was gone, I kept it. I barely managed to keep its existence a secret from all the agencies that wanted a piece of anything left of Steve. They ran through all those vials of blood he gave us in a matter of months. If they had his egg, what do you think they would do?” Howard asked. Steven saw the frustration and righteous anger simmering under the surface, and Howard’s protectiveness toward this, or rather his defensiveness. He sighed and continued again, “I did my best to keep that last vial secret until it was stolen, and Peggy punched me for that; what do you think she would have done if she had known about the egg? She’d have killed me for sure.” Howard cringed and shuddered at the thought.

                “One less mad scientist in the world,” Steven said dryly. Howard looked up at Steven wounded and saw Steven’s barely there smirk.

                “Ha, ha,” Howard chuckled sarcastically, and dryly, and looked down at his shoes with remorse. “Thing is, kid, I wanted to use it, but it was Steve’s, you know. I promised him I’d give it back. So when I found out the scientists had run through all their blood samples, I took it and put it away for safe keeping. After Peg and I founded SHIELD, I had it put in a private vault at one of our storage buildings. It was kept under lock and key, in cryo-storage for thirty years. No one saw it, touched it or worked on it that didn’t have level-nine clearance, and even then they were personally vetted by me and Peggy. I told her it was for one of my private projects.” Steven glared at him and his anger bled out into the room.

                “What happened,” he snapped. Howard cringed and looked shamefaced.

                “About a year before Joseph… before we recovered you and Bucky, some of our buildings were raided,” Howard confessed, and looked up at Steven. The younger man was livid and barely holding on to his temper. Howard continued, “Including the one with my private projects. At first we didn’t know what was stolen, until I saw that my private vault was on the list of the raided areas. I didn’t tell anyone, until your father confronted me; in front of Peggy, I might add. I couldn’t inquire as to what exactly was taken, but when your father confronted us, I finally knew.” Howard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. “They took several materials from my research projects, including the cryogenically stored and unfertilized egg I harvested from Steve, and a sample of Celegorm’s sperm. Until your father had told us, I didn’t know where it had gone, or who took it.”

                “Well, now you do,” Steven said and glared Stark down, before he asked: “How could you be so reckless, Howard?” Stark looked up and gaped at Steven before he squared his shoulders and puffed up his chest indignantly. Steven glared all the harder, and unfolded his arms, forcing them straight and rigged at his sides; vibrating with tension and repressed anger. Howard shank back under the weight of the glare and looked frightened for a moment. “You trusted, when you should have kept this to yourself. You had kept it in a _SHIELD_ vault. You may as well have told them you were keeping it in your house for as much as the security would have helped. I trained infiltrators, Howard. I trained them to break into facilities like those. It would have been easy. It was safer in your possession.” Steven took a menacing step towards Howard and the inventor suddenly found himself trapped against the desk, cornered with nowhere to run. “Let me make this very clear to you, Stark: you screwed up,” Steven said his voice soft but laced with steel. “Don’t ever keep a secret like this from me again. I don’t like surprises, and I _hate_ them even more when they have to do with family and HYDRA. If I find out about any more little secrets you’ve been keeping from me,” Steven leaned into Howard’s personal space and loomed menacingly over him, “ _I …will… kill… you_. Slowly, and painfully, and I will not hesitate to do this to protect my Ada! _Am I clear_?”

Howard swallowed back his fear and cleared his throat.

                “Crystal,” he said. Steven smiled but it was not a nice smile.

                “Good,” he said and pulled away, all anger and menacing atmosphere gone. Howard breathed a sigh of relief. “What can you tell me about what they did to it,” he asked once he pulled back to lean on the arm of a chair on the opposite side of the room. Howard picked up the pages of data on paper and skimmed over it.

                “From this,” he asked, glancing over the top of the pages, “not much.” He set them aside on the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Is there any more?” Steven nodded, and pulled the Solid state drive out of his pocket.

Steven closed his eyes and when he opened them he was interfaced with the drive. With a single thought, he projected the image of the data as if it were a screen of light, by manipulating the dust and light into the images he needed. He essentially became the projector for a computer screen. Howard whistled and stood up from his lean against the desk; moving to look at the image of the crisp white and black lettering tinged in blue light. He stood in front of the projection, and reached up a hand to touch and move pages as if they were on a desk.

                “It is so cool when you do that,” Stark said with a childlike grin. Steven’s expression became flat and slightly irritated, but not angry.

                “Yeah, thanks,” Steven said dryly, while Stark paged through the pages of data.  After a while Howard stepped back and looked at Steven with the same sick and shocked expression he’d had when he first saw the data. “You see it too?”

                “Yeah,” Howard replied faintly. “I had no idea that the Soviets were even close to this level of technology.” Howard looked at the projected data with wonder and concern. “If I’m reading this right, the Red Room was going to use that embryo to create a new Winter Soldier. They somehow fertilized the egg with Celegorm’s sperm and used Bucky’s DNA to enhance it. They spliced in segments of his genetic code they knew contained markers from the Serum; but only on the paternal DNA. It’s incredible; completely unethical and immoral, but still, incredible!” Steven let Howard marvel at it for a moment before he broached the question burning on his mind.

                “Is it stable? Is it viable,” he asked. Howard looked at the data for a moment before a smirk pulled on his face.

                “With some minor tweaks to perfect the ratio of paternal DNA to the grafted donor markers, yeah it’s stable,” Howard said with a bit of pride. “We’d have to work on it before we even think about implanting it in a surrogate. But Steven,” Howard said as he looked up, worry and resignation on his face, “even after we do that, we would need a compatible mother to carry it to term. The metabolic rate would have to be someone who’s…”

                “Enhanced,” Bucky interrupted. Both Howard and Steven turned to look at the door. Bucky stood there, quietly; his arms resting around his waist. He had a calm look on his face, but there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “The surrogate would have to be enhanced to handle the pregnancy. Not only because of nutritional needs, but for safety; the baby would be just as strong as Steve, and kicks from a normal baby can sometimes break bone. It would have to be someone who is more durable than normal.” Bucky paused and a look of peaceful revelation came across his face, “Someone like … me.”

                “Ada,” Steven said softly, as he walked over to stand in front of his Ada, “how long were you standing there?” Bucky smiled wryly and looked at his son.

                “Long enough,” he answered, before he looked at Stark with a look of determination and finality in his eyes. “I’ll carry it, Stark.” Steven looked at his Ada in desperate denial, but upon seeing the determination on Bucky’s face, he closed his eyes and hung his head in resignation.

                “He,” Steven said softly. Bucky and Howard looked over at Steven’s hunched in form.

                “What,” Bucky asked, “what was that Steven?” Bucky lifted Steven’s head with his hand gently under his chin, and looked at Steven’s face.

                “The embryo,” Steven said softly, and lifted his eyes to look at his Ada’s, “it’s a boy. It’s male.” Bucky pulled back and looked at the innocuous briefcase containing the cryo container with wonder.

                “A boy,” he breathed with a growing smile of wonder and joy. Suddenly a look of contemplation stole over his face and he looked in askance at Stark. “Howard, I’ll carry it, but not just for Steve.” Confusion was writ upon the faces of his friend and son before he explained. “Yasha… he’s … there’s only so much Michael can do. Yasha is a living breathing entity in his own right; a complete personality, but… Yasha was created from the programming.” Bucky paused and looked down at his metal hand. A kind of pitying sadness stole across his face. “Yasha’s been coming out more often. The programming’s breaking down, and at first I thought that was a good thing, but…” Bucky looked up at Steven, and the younger man was struck with realization. “As the programming breaks down over time, he is slowly losing cohesion. He’s losing his mind, and it’s because the programming is disappearing. Eventually he’ll just be gone, and I find that I don’t want that now.” Steven nodded and a small smile curved his lips, softening his face.

                “You want to save him,” Steven said, and Bucky nodded.

                “If there is just enough of my genetics in the embryo, and the markers of the Winter Soldier, Yasha might have a chance to live as his own person, and not just part of me as a weapon,” Bucky explained. “Michael can transfer Yasha’s mind into a new body, but he needs help detangling him from my subconscious.” Steven looked thoughtful for a moment before he looked over at Stark.

                “I think it could work,” Steven said, then asked, “Stark, what do you think?” Stark looked over the data a second time, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

                “It could work,” he said at last, but cautiously. He looked up at Bucky and contemplated him for a second before speaking. “Barnes, with your minor telepathic abilities and with Steven’s help we might be able to transfer Yasha’s consciousness into the unborn baby over the course of the pregnancy, and sever it completely at birth.” Steven looked sharply back at his Ada, shock written all over his face.

                “You’re telepathic,” he asked, stunned and hurt all at once. Bucky shrugged and pinched his forefinger and thumb together only a little.

                “Just a bit,” he answered, sheepish, before he became serious again. “That’s not the issue here, Steven. It’s whether or not we should do this.”

                “I think you should,” Arthadan’s voice came behind them. Bucky and Steven turned around sharply and sucked in a startled breath. Arthadan was standing silently in the doorway just as Bucky had been only a moment before. His expression was kind and wise, as he stepped forward to stand before them. “It would be what Steve would have wanted.” He looked at Bucky and gestured to him as he spoke, “he would have wanted his friend to be sane, but not at the cost of an innocent life. He would have wanted Yasha to be given a chance to live, I should know.” He said as he looked away, “it’s what I would want.”

Steven looked at Arthadan and saw the weight of an entire nation on the man’s shoulders, but he bore it well. Steven looked away and contemplated the situation again. Yasha was a good man when given the choice, and he was a force to be reckoned with in his own right. But the programming was the foundation of his psyche, and that little trigger he placed into it could cause it all to come crumbling down. It could be undone but it would take time, time Yasha currently didn’t have. In his own mind, they could stabilize him, and slowly pull the threads of the programming out of his mind while stitching it together naturally. In the end, Steven realized that there was only one course of action they could do.

                “Do it,” Steven said as he looked up at Stark. The inventor grinned at the thought of a new challenge. Steven handed him the briefcase with all the data and the sample. Steven stepped aside and hooked up his drive to the printer and concentrated on printing out the data pertaining to the project. As he handed it to Stark, Steven pulled him aside. “Stark, there’s something I need to tell you.”

                “What,” Howard said absentmindedly as he skimmed over the printout and data.

                “I created a flaw in the programming of the Winter Soldier,” Steven said, and that caught Howard’s attention. He looked up with shock.

                “What,” he asked sharply. Steven shushed him and pulled him further away from his Ada. Once at a safer distance he explained.

                “It’s a trigger, a word phrase that, once spoken, will completely unravel the programming, rendering it inert,” Steven explained. “I wove it into the programming from the very beginning. If we’re going to do this, Stark, Yasha will need someone, _not me_ , to unravel and neutralize the code or it will destroy Yasha; completely unravel his mind and leave him catatonic, or worse no higher brain function at all.” Stark looked at Steven like he was suddenly speaking in tongues.

                “A failsafe,” Stark said, once he recovered from his shock, “are you nuts!?”

                “I didn’t have much of a _choice_ , Stark,” Steven told him, his eyes burning with old rage. “It is a soldier’s duty to resist, and Ada couldn’t so I helped him resist in the only way I could: by using their own programming against them. At the time, I thought we were going to be rescued any day, and then we weren’t.” Stark pulled on his hair in frustration, before taking a calming breath and smoothing it back.

                “Why didn’t you say anything before,” he hissed through clenched teeth, leaning in close. Steven pulled back, completely un-intimidated and narrowed his eyes at Stark; glaring at him.

                “It was supposed to be a last resort, Stark,” he snarled, his face contorting and his eyes burning with old rage and pain. Stark pulled back. He knew the look of a wounded and cornered predator, and he had no doubt that Steven would lash out if he thought himself threatened. Steven calmed and continued, “I didn’t want to use it, unless I had to. I grew to like Yasha.” Steven curled in on himself and wrapped his arms around his middle, looking away. “He protected Ada from the worse of the programming and conditioning, when I couldn’t. I owe him a debt. He saved my life more than once in the field when he could have just left me for dead. I own him. I owe it to him to fix this.” Steven looked back up at Stark with determined eyes, and unfolded his arms; looking more like a soldier and less like a guilty child. “It may take years before that code is gone, but I don’t care; I won’t be responsible for destroying another innocent life.” There was a hint of regret in Steven’s eyes but the steel there was overpowering it. Howard felt very uncomfortable and in an effort to break the tension, he changed the subject.

                “There’s this school up by Westchester, run by this old Mutant professor named Charles Xavier,” Howard said, “according to the paperwork it’s supposed to be for gifted children. Sort of like a prep school, only it’s really a place where Mutant kids can go and be just kids. They go there as runaways or sometimes the parents send them there to protect them, to help them. Xavier teaches these kids how to control their powers, and gives them all a high school education.” Howard paused and looked at the briefcase in his hands. “Joseph goes there.” Steven looked up sharply at that bombshell.

                “Joseph is a Mutant,” he asked, concerned and nervous. Howard shook his head.

                “No, but his foster parents are,” he said. Stark looked up at Steven and started toward the door, walking out of the den, and into the living room. “His foster parents went to the school, and they thought that since Joseph is most likely going to be enhanced, it would be the best place for him. Steven,” Howard started as they reached the door. He turned and looked Steven in the eye. “Xavier might be the only person I’ve met whose Telepathy is nearly as strong as yours. He might be the only one who is strong enough to undo what you’ve done.” Steven looked away and thought for a moment before he looked up at Stark.

                “Okay,” he said, “If you think he could help Yasha, then enlist his help.” Stark smirked and opened the front door.

                “Will do,” he said and gave Steven a jaunty salute. Stark turned and started down the steps toward his car.

                “Oh and, Howard,” Steven said as Stark walked down the steps. Howard stopped and turned, looking up at Steven with a raised eyebrow. Steven smiled and said, “Thanks.” Howard face softened and a warm smile curved his lips.

                “No problem, kid,” he said and started back down the steps. Just as he reached the bottom, he paused and turned back. “I also think he might be the only one who could help you, too, “he said before he smiled. “See ya around, kid,” he added and turned to walk to his car.

Steven smiled and shook his head ruefully.

                “See ya around, Stark,” Steven said softly to himself, before he turned and closed the door behind him.

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: Long chapter, so sorry. Actually, not so sorry, the outline here is a nightmare. I had written this up to be originally three separate chapters. I hadn’t even realized that, until I went to write this. Hence the reason I haven’t a solid number on the chapter length.  
> I hoped you all liked this; cause there is going to be a huge time jump. Not by years but months.


	6. Yasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science-ish stuff ahead so don't kill me. also a tender moment with Ada and son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you all liked the way this is going because there is more science moments ahead. I hope you don’t mind my sucky description of science and medical stuff. Also a lot of history happening here, the fall of the Soviet Union and what not, I want Steven to be right in the thick of it.  
> Please no trolls or rants, but reviews with constructive criticism are welcome.  
> Well on to the fic

~~**~

* * *

 

                “Steven was right,” Howard said while examining the ultrasound scan. Howard smirked and shook his head in bemusement. “It is a boy.” Bucky grinned up at him from the examination table. He turned his head and smiled fondly at the screen and the image of his unborn child. He looked back at his exposed belly and the sizable bump that had developed in the past few months. Arion smiled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s flesh and blood knuckles. He held Bucky’s hand throughout the entire exam to keep him from having an anxiety attack, and for the most part it worked. Bucky was calm and relaxed, but Steven knew that because it was only an ultrasound, and not an internal exam that had kept his Ada from dissolving into shakes and panic. External exams were easy, but the others, still held the taint of HYDRA’s experimentation.

Steven was glad to have returned from the east for a while. It did him some good to see his Ada’s face filled with smiles and warm joy. It was hard to give up the rush of watching those bases burn to rubble and know that no one escaped his wrath, but for his Ada’s sake and for the baby, he would do anything. Bucky turned his joyous smile on his eldest son, and reached out his hand to get his attention.

                “Hey,” Bucky asked, and Steven looked up from his brooding with a softened face, “you okay, kiddo?” Steven nodded.

                “Just thinking,” he answered, but Bucky saw the distant and longing look in Steven’s eyes.

                “About the girls,” Bucky finally asked. Steven looked over at him with a rueful smile.

                “Yeah,” he said, “you know me too well.” His smiled dropped and his eyes became sad and lost for a moment.

                “Have you heard anything about them,” Arion asked. Steven snapped out of his distant stare and inhaled deeply.

                “No,” he said with a sigh as he shook his head. “nothin’, but I’m keeping an ear out for them.” He looked at his Ada and smiled again, “Especially Natalia.” Bucky smirked and raised an eyebrow.

                “Especially Anya,” Bucky added, and Steven cracked a grin and chuckled; his cheeks turning a dark pink. “How are things going?” Bucky finally asked as Stark printed off the picture of the baby.

                “The Red Room is collapsing,” Steven said with a pleased smile, “and the rest of the KGB and Soviet Union aren’t far behind them. The Soviets are going bankrupt, and everything else is just coming apart at the seams. Within the next year or so, I expect the whole of the soviet union to fold in on itself.” Steven’s pleased smile turned into a smug smirk before his attention was diverted to Howard, who is still examining the scan. “Stark, is something wrong?”

Bucky turned his head and saw Howard looking intently at the screen with at analytical look on his face. At once Bucky grew concerned.

                “Is something wrong with the baby,” Bucky asked and squeezed Arion’s hand a little tighter.  Howard looked up from his screen and gave Bucky a sympathetic look. Steven took down his barriers just long enough to see what was wrong, and when he did his eyes became sad and resigned. “Steven?” Bucky asked when he saw the look, but Steven didn’t speak.

                “Barnes,” Howard started, and sighed, his shoulders drooping, “Bucky, the baby… he’s… he’s a hermaphrodite.” Bucky startled and stared at him in numb shock for a moment, before it sank in.

                “He’s like me,” Bucky asked, but in his heart he already knew. Howard nodded.

                “Yeah,” Howard sighed. Arion tugged on Bucky’s hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. Bucky smiled and released the tension in his body.

                “I guess then, I will be able to handle this better than my parents did,” Bucky joked but Steven saw the anxiety in his Ada’s mind.

                “It’ll be okay, Ada,” Steve said, “he’s no different than me.”

Bucky’s smile became warm and nurturing. Steven smiled back before he stood up.

                “As much as I want to stay,” Steven said, “I have a few more things to do before I come back for good.” Bucky nodded in understanding, and shooed him off as Stark handed him the printout of the baby to marvel at. Steven smiled and stepped out of the room, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Arthadan sitting on the couch waiting for him.

                “I didn’t want to intrude,” he said, and stood up. Steven smiled and shook Arthadan’s hand.

                “Arthadan,” Steven said, “it’s so good to see you. I actually wanted to talk to you before I left.” Arthadan nodded in acceptance and motioned for Steven to sit in the chair before him. Steven sat down and took Arthadan’s form in. the past several months had put hardness in the Numenorean’s eyes that wasn’t there before. Arthadan looked more regal, more distant, more like a king with every passing day, but he was still a king without a kingdom. Steven wanted to remedy that.

                “What is it that you wanted to discuss,” Arthadan asked.

                “Straight to the point, as always,” Steven mused, “you know, Arthadan, you and Steve are more alike that I would have thought.” Arthadan raised a brow, and Steven cleared his throat before he continued. “I know that you have been having talks with the surviving Lords of the houses of Numenor. You’ve been trying to find out if your people will accept your rule. I know you want to reunite the great Noble Houses and all of your people under one rule again, but there has been trouble.” Arthadan sighed and the weight of his people’s future bowed his strong shoulders.

                “Yes,” he said, “and they are legitimate concerns. Even if our people unite again under one banner, we have no home land; No place to call our own. I thought I could find the land we were promised all those years ago, but… records have been lost over the years; maps and surveys of the land. I know where it is, but seeing it in person, seeing those markers again, it would strengthen our claim to the land. I hate politics!” Arthadan groaned and rested his head in his hands. Steven smiled.

                “I might be able to help,” Steven said calmly, and Arthadan looked up sharply, hope shining in his eyes. An imperceptible smile pulled on Steven’s lips before his spoke. “You know what’s been going on in Eastern Europe, how the Soviets are running themselves into the ground. Well the result of this is a desperate need for funds. They’ll do just about anything to get a little more money. Now even if they got it, they’d burn through it so fast that it wouldn’t have even mattered, but you and your people might be able to get something out of it. I’ve heard a rumor that some land might come up for purchase, for the right price, of course.” Arthadan smirked and leaned back in his seat, confidence returned and a weight lifted.

                “Of course,” Arthadan replied, knowing where the conversation was going, but wanting to hear Steven’s proposal.

                “well, it just so happens that the land that is possibly on the table for sale contains the land you and your people were promised,” Steven said, and Arthadan sucked in a deep breath, his eyes going wide before a pleased smile pulled on his lips and brightened his whole face. “I believe that there might even be some leeway for the purchase of land with direct seaway access. I know how much the sea and naval access means to you, and this way your people could have a fleet again. You are mariners after all.” Arthadan smiled even wider and leaned forward.

                “And just where might this new country be located,” Arthadan asked politely, “if I may ask?” Steven pulled out a map and marked the land mentioned with a red sharpie. The land aforementioned stretched from the Baltic Sea and cut through the north western corner of Ukraine; taking chunks out of Poland, Lithuania and Belarus and swallowing up Kaliningrad entirely. It was a sizeable portion of land to be sure, but then again, it would need to be to contain the entire population of the Numenorean peoples; which at this point had dwindled down to about 1.5 million, in the tradition of Numenorean census (which counted men from the ages of 18 and up: Men of fighting age). Arthadan knew that his people could turn the land into something to be proud of, if only they had the means to get it, and it seemed that the greed of the Soviets and their desperation gave him just the opportunity. It was closer to Chernobyl than he would have liked, but there was room for negotiation.

                “I think if you opened the talks now,” Steven said, “your people could have a homeland before 1990. Maybe before the end of this year, if you do it right.” Arthadan smiled at the map before he carefully rolled it up and tucked it away. He stood up and Steven followed suit.

                “I think that the Lords will have ample reason to accept my rule again, now,” Arthadan said. Steven furrowed his brow in confusion.

                “Why do you say that,” Steven asked. Arthadan smiled.

                “Because the only way to get that land is to buy it,” Arthadan said, “and I have money from my own fortune that I brought over that is more than enough to pay for it; all in gold and jewels. My people need a country, and I am going to give them one.” Arthadan’s face was confident and it was reflected in his stance and the cut of his jaw and line of his shoulders.

                “Just ask,” Steven said, “if you need any help writing up your country’s law system,” Steven paused, unsure. “Unless you’re going to use the old Numenorean laws as a foundation and build from there?” Arthadan smiled slyly, and Steven grinned ruefully, shaking his head. “In that case, I will help. A lot of your people, our people, immigrated to the states and they’ve grown used to the laws here. A Constitution and Bill of Rights would go a long way towards allaying their fears.” Arthadan blinked and hummed in thought, as he brought his hand up to rub his chin and jaw.

                “A constitutional Monarchy,” he mused, and after a moment a grinned pulled on his face. He chuckled and laughed, “You know, it’s so crazy, it just might work!”

~*~~*~*

* * *

 

Steven walked up to the house with a warm smile. He was dressed in a wool great coat to keep out the cold. It was a classic shade of faded blue with a set of brass double breasted buttons running up the front. It was an old one he had found in a Salvation Army store the previous year, and while old it was in fine shape, and kept him just warm enough to forget the cold for a few moments. December 10th was cold enough for him that it reminded him too much of Siberia and the bite of their winter cold. He walked up the steps and smiled even wider when he saw the traditional Christmas wreath on the door, as well as holly and such hanging artfully from the gutters.  Steven chuckled at the sight of his Ada and father decking out the house for Christmas. He opened the front door and was met with the sight of something out of an old Christmas catalogue. Holly and ivy were draped from the banisters and when he looked into the living room he saw a beautiful tree dressed in silver and gold tinsel and ribbons, with lights shaped like tiny candles twinkling gold and silver light. The decorations were old blown glass or brass cut shapes, and they were arranged so as to reflect the light back into the room. There were strings of beads cut and faceted like diamonds, and twinkled light back in a rainbow of colors like stars. The room looked beautiful and the house was filled with the scent of fresh gingerbread, and other confectionary delights. It was everything Steven had ever dreamed Christmas would be like in the States.

                “Ada,” he called out, “I’m home.” Steven walked into the living room and saw his Ada carefully standing up, his very round belly cumbersome and throwing off his balance. Steven’s jaw dropped in shock at the sight. Bucky stood up and brushed out the wrinkles in his shirt before he moved to pull Steven into a tight hug.

                “Stevie,” he sighed into Steven’s ear. Bucky pulled back and smiled even wider at the dumbfounded look on Steven’s face.  “It’s good to have you home. When did you get back?”

                “This morning,” Steven said numbly. “Ada, jeeze, you’ve gotten Big! When are you due? You look like you could pop any day now.” Bucky chuckled and pulled Steven towards the couch.

                “I’m actually not due for another month or so,” Bucky said and slowly lowered himself back down. “Ooh, ha,” he sighed and chuckled rubbing his large mound. “But he’s a big one, not unlike you, just a little further forward. Come sit,” Bucky patted the seat next to him. When Steven had finally sat down, Bucky asked, the question burning on his mind. “So what brings you back home? And don’t say it’s for the holidays, I know you don’t give a hoot.” Bucky said when he saw Steven open his mouth. Steven shut it quickly and gave his Ada a sheepish smile, fully chastised.  He looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees, and looked every bit the chastened school boy caught red handed.

                “I got caught,” Steven said sullenly. Bucky sat up straighter and looked at his son in alarm.

                “What,” he asked. “How, when?” Steven looked over at his Ada and looked ashamed.

                “I was on a mission in the region where Arthadan is going to purchase land from the soviets,” Steven explained. “I wanted to clear the area of all HYDRA activity before he bought the land. It seems that someone else had been sent there first. A SHIELD agent, and STRIKE team were at the base, and they weren’t the only ones.” Steven closed his eyes and grimaced, his face twisting up in despair and shame. “There was a CIA liaison with them. I thought I could clear the base without them noticing. I was wrong.” Steven hung his head and ran his hands through his longer hair in half frustration and half despair. “I must have tripped a silent alarm. It wasn’t on any of the blue prints I had found so it must have been a new addition. I was in the server room downloading the files from the servers when they caught me.” Steven sighed. “They startled me, I don’t know how. They must have been wearing neural suppressors so I couldn’t read their thoughts.”

                “Why would they be using those?” Bucky asked. Steven cringed.

                “Because the base was one of the last known locations of Zhukov,” Steven said. Bucky closed his eyes and sighed in despair, “and they probably didn’t want to take any chances. They startled me, there was a firefight, and one of the agents got a good look at me.” Steven sighed and leaned back to rest totally on the back of the couch, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. His brows were furrowed in pain. “They know that the Winter Knight exists now, and they know I’ve been destroying bases. HYDRA knows I’ve gone rogue and I have no doubt that they’ll look into you too, Ada.” Steven turned his head and looked over at his Ada with sorrow in his eyes. “Ada, I’m sorry. I blew our cover. HYDRA was supposed to think us both dead, and now they know that I’m alive, they’ll think you are too.” Bucky quickly placed a hand on Steven’s shoulder before he could dig himself into a well of blame and despair.

                “No, Steven,” he said kindly, “it was bound to happen sooner or later. It just happened now. What’s done is done, don’t dwell on it.” Steven smiled gratefully and turned to tuck himself into the crook of Bucky’s arm, resting his head on Bucky’s metal shoulder. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steven and pressed a tender kiss to his crown. A small sincere smile tugged on Steven’s lips, and he breathed in his Ada’s sent.

                “I did everything I could to lose them,” he said, “I placed several false trails before I came home. Pegs and Howard said to lay low for a while until the heat dies down a little. I don’t want to press my luck with you and Yasha, so I came home, and I’m staying until he’s born,” Steven said as he looked up into his Ada’s eyes. Bucky smiled and pressed another kiss onto Steven’s forehead.

                “I’m glad,” Bucky said as he pulled away. “And as much as I hate to ask, Yasha has been eager to hear anything about the girls.” Steven pulled back and his eyes became solemn.

                “The Widows,” he asked, and Bucky nodded. “I haven’t heard anything since June.” Bucky’s shoulders sagged.

                “Oh,” he said and sighed.” What have you heard?”

                “Only that the Red Room has lost all contact with them,” Steven replied. “They’ve even lost contact with their handlers. I can only guess that this means that they’ve either gone underground until this is over, or they’ve gone rogue themselves and have gone underground on their own to wait things out.” Steven paused and laid a hand on Bucky shoulder. “They’re smart, Ada. They know how to take care of themselves. You know this, Yasha knows this, and so do I. they’ll be fine,” Steven said with a small reassuring smile. Bucky took Steven’s hand in his own and squeezed it before bringing it down to rest on his large mound. “How are you doing, Ada?”

                “I’m actually doing pretty well, Stevie,” he answered. Steven cocked a brow, and Bucky chuckled. “I really am. Yasha has been more of a separate thought in my mind. I can almost sense him leaving.” Bucky smiled and rubbed his mound tenderly. He looked down at it with a fond smile. “You know, when I was pregnant with Joseph, I could almost sense his mind.” Bucky looked up at Steven with the same tender gaze. “With you it felt like this quiet voice in the back of my mind; A presence that I could sense, and would reach out to me for comfort. You were so different, even before you were born; so special and more precious to me than all the gold and jewels beneath the earth. Yasha is like a person linked to my mind, with thoughts and a fully developed mind, but you were more impressions and flairs of emotion than thought.”

Steven tucked in close to his Ada and leaned down to rest his ear against his belly. He closed his eyes and reached out his mind, calling to the babe within. Bucky set his hand on Steven’s head and began to stroke his golden locks, much like he had done when Steven was much smaller and far more innocent. A smile of contentment ran over Steven’s face, and he placed a hand on the mound to feel the movements of the babe. Soon Steven’s mind was brushing against the mind of the child, and his actions were rewarded by Yasha brushing back. Steven smiled wide and examined the connection Yasha had to his Ada, and found it was almost wholly severed. There were only a few tendrils of connection left between the two, tying them together, but it was more akin to an umbilical cord than the binding connection it was before. Michael had done his due diligence, and his Ada was more skilled than he thought.

Steven examined Yasha’s mind and saw the dark thread woven throughout it like a cancer. At any moment and with a single phrase, it could destroy Yasha’s mind. No it was not a cancer; it was a time bomb, and a deadly one at that. Only this one would destroy only Yasha, and leave everyone around him devastated. Steven left it alone and followed this tendril back to his Ada’s mind and found that, though it was diminished, the trigger still wove its way through the dark parts of his mind; tying it together and sewing it to his Ada’s mind. It was so dark, more akin to a foreign entity than a natural force in Bucky’s mind. It was greatly diminished though, and was being held together and to Bucky’s mind only by that single thread. Steven smiled. What he had set out to do was done, but it would take time to undo that damage from Yasha’s mind.

Steven pulled away and smiled up at his Ada.

                “He’s okay,” Steven said. “I think he’s going to be just fine.” Bucky pulled Steven up to wrap him in his embrace. This was how Arion and Maedhros found them: wrapped in each other’s embrace, content to feel one another than speak.

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry this took so long to come out. I have other things that kept dragging me away from this.  
> Next chapter will be more about Yasha and Arthadan meeting the others.


	7. Meeting of Minds; Memories of Numenor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a meeting with professor X. Arthadan meets the commandoes, and shares his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is a long scene. I hope you all like it. Arthadan finally meets the Commandos and Bucky begins talks with Xavier.  
> Yay, we finally meet Professor X.   
> Also be warned, there is going to be a lot of dialogue about Numenor from Arthadan’s perspective. Also I screwed with the timeline a bit: 1) Eregion fell shortly after the fall of Numenor. 2) Arthadan was apprenticed to Celebrimbor, but before Sauron came. 3) And Sauron was captured by the Numenoreans before he could destroy Eregion, so Arthadan met him and knew him. He was also a very big thorn in his side. Kind of like Steve was to Schmidt. Must run in the family  
> So that little bit of time blunder and world explaining aside, on to the Fic

~~~**~*

* * *

 

The year of 1989 began with Steven and Bucky going on a sojourn to Westchester, to visit the Xavier institute. Steven had his reservations about the man, but from what Howard had said, he was a good man with impeachable morals. When they arrived at the school, he was at first unsure as to the validity of the address. When he saw the small plaque just outside the gate on the stone pillar, he finally accepted that this was the right address and pulled the car into the long drive. Arion was at home, taking care of some last minute additions to the nursery, as well as finishing some tasks for work, and was unable to come with Bucky, so Steven went in his stead.

Steven knew the minute they entered the grounds that the intelligence on Charles Xavier was accurate. The Professor was indeed a telepath, and Steven sensed him. And the feeling was mutual, for the bald headed man had stopped dead in the middle of a lecture to his students. Xavier dropped the book in his hands in shock, and quickly looked out the large mansion windows. The aged man reached out his mind to brush against Steven’s, and the blond haired Super Soldier slammed down on his mental shields like an impenetrable fortress.  The professor’s mind was ruthlessly forced back with only the mental hiss of, (‘ _Stay out of my mind,’)_ as a warning.

                “Professor,” a young red haired student exclaimed when Xavier jolted back in his chair clutching his head. The girl rushed to his side, as did many other students. “Are you alright?” she asked. The aging professor rubbed his forehead, and squeezed his eyes together to relieve the headache that the mental lash-out caused. After a moment he sighed and raised his head out of his hand.

                “Yes, Jean,” he said comfortingly, “I’m fine. It seems that one of our new guests is a telepath; a very powerful telepath.” He chuckled and rubbed his temple. “Scott, if you would be so kind as to go greet our guests,” he asked and the young boy with ruby lensed glasses nodded and ran off to the front door.

Steven had already opened the door for his Ada and helped him into the entertaining room just off the main atrium. With all the gentle care that many didn’t think Steven was still capable of he helped Bucky into a chair and put his feet up.

                “Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky said and sighed in contentment. “My feet were starting to kill me.” Steven smiled and stood up just in time for Scott to come around the corner into the atrium. Steven looked over his shoulder with a smirk, and turned around fully to watch the boy bemusedly as Scott looked to and fro for the guests. After a minute of watching him scratch his head in confusion, Steven took pity on the boy and spoke.

                “You know, it’s usually polite to introduce yourself to your guests,” Steven said. Scott whirled around, his eyes wide behind his lenses and saw Steven leaning casually on the doorframe, his arms crossed and his left ankle tucked behind the right. He looked every bit the picture of the calm and aloof cool guy with his long black/blue greatcoat.  Steven’s face was blank and his eyes calculating, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips if you knew where to look for it.

Scot gulped around the sudden lump in his throat and straightened himself up to introduce himself.

                “Hello,” he said shakily and cleared his throat, “welcome to Xavier’s school for gifted children. My name is Scott Summers.” Steven smirked and unfolded his arms and stood up from his lean.

                “I know,” Steven said, “my Ada and I are guests of your professor Xavier. We came seeking his help.” Steven held out his hand and greeted Scott. “My name is Steven Grant Buchanan,” he said and turned to gesture to his Ada, “and his is my Ada.” When Steven turned back he saw that Scott’s jaw was hanging open and he was gaping at him in wide eyed shock.

                “Steven Buchanan,” he said in awe, “ _The_ Steven Grant Buchanan of the Howling Commandos?” Steven smiled and nodded.  Scott held out his hand to shake Steven’s. “Oh, wow! It is an honor, sir.” Steven chuckled, and shook Scott’s hand.

                “Thanks,” he said slightly awkwardly, “I think.” Scott was obviously very young and impressionable and somewhere down the line he found out about Steven, which made no sense to the super soldier because everything about him was supposed to be classified. “But if I may ask, how do you know that? Everything about my work with Steve was supposed to be classified above top secret.” Scott’s jaw dropped again and he shook himself out of it.

                “You mean you really don’t know?” he asked, and Steven shook his head. “Wow, you really have been out of it for a while. Your status as a mutant was declassified in the 70s, and most of your status as a member of the Howling Commandos was declassified in the late 50s I think. You’ve been the hero of mutants everywhere for almost twenty years.” Steven stood dumbfounded and utterly perplexed that these people would consider him a hero.

                “Why,” he asked, “I’m no hero. I’m nobody, I… I’m… I was just a soldier. Yes, I worked with Captain America and I was a Howling Commando, but I was an auxiliary member, not part of the main group. I worked mostly with the Paratroopers and the 101st airborne.” Scott gave Steven a look that he didn’t have to be psychic to understand what he was thinking.

                “You’re kidding, right,” he said, “please tell me you’re joking.” Steven looked uncomfortable for a moment and shook his head. Scott’s eyebrows rose above the rim of his glasses and he chuckled in disbelief. “Wow, you really aren’t. Ha ha,” he chuckled nervously, “well, you’re a mutant.” In response to this Steven raised a single eyebrow with a blank stare. “That’s given, right. Well, you were the first openly Mutant officer in the US Army, and when your actions in the war were finally declassified you became the very pillar of what Mutants today want to be held up to. Also because the government admitted that you were a Mutant, they could no longer deny Mutants the right to become Officers in the military. It was a small victory but a victory none the less, one you pioneered.” Steven stared at the young boy in shock and lowered his eyes.

                “I’m no hero,” he said softly, regret and old grief in his voice. “The men that didn’t come home, the ones that never came back, they’re the heroes. Not me. If you knew what I’ve done since the war…” Steven paused, self-loathing hardening his voice before he softened it, “you wouldn’t think I was a hero.”

                “Oh, come now, Stevie,” Bucky spoke up from his seat on the couch, “you’re as much a hero as the rest of the guys. Don’t sell yourself short.” Steven turned and a tender smile graced his lips, erasing the grief and self-loathing for a moment. Bucky sat up a bit higher so that his arm draped over the back of the couch, and he smiled at the young boy now gaping at him. “Steven, don’t be rude. Introduce me,” he said. Steven smirked and turned back to Scott.

                “Ada, this is Scott Summers; a student here,” he said, “Scott, this is my Ada: James Buchanan Barnes.” Bucky smiled and held out his hand for the youngster to shake, which he did after a moment of gaping like a fish.

                “Nice to meet ya, Scott” Bucky said, shaking Scott’s hand. “My friends call me Bucky.” Scott stood gob smacked holding Bucky’s hand for a moment before he came to his senses.

                “Bucky,” he said softly, “Bucky Barnes,” Scotts eyes widened his shock and awe, before a slow smile drew across his face. “You’re Bucky Barnes!” Bucky chuckled and gave the boy his famous charming smile.

                “Yep,” he said and looked over the kid’s head to see a bald man in a wheelchair come into the room. “And you must be the Professor.” Scott turned and smiled embarrassment coloring his cheeks. Bucky smiled pleasantly and said, “I’d get up but I’ve just gotten comfortable and my feet are killing me.” Xavier smiled pleasantly and waved him off.

                “It’s no issue,” he said as he maneuvered his chair toward the couch. Steven looked at him with a calculating eye before he moved to stand behind his Ada. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Barnes. My students have just finished a segment on the Second World War in their history class, and many did their reports on you and your team.” Bucky smiled and looked up at his son’s stony face.

                “It’s alright,” Bucky said, “but it was Steve’s team, not mine.” Xavier nodded in acknowledgement as he continued to maneuver his chair around the couch.

                “I was surprised when you arrived here,” he said, “I was expecting Arion and yourself, and I know this young man is most defiantly not your husband.”

                “This is Steven,” Bucky said and grasped his son’s hand from its tight grip on the couch, “my son. My Husband had some urgent business to attend to and couldn’t come, so Steven drove me instead.” Xavier took in the stony face of the young man and granted him a disarming smile.

                “I was unaware that you were a Telepath as well, young Steven,” Xavier said. (‘ _Or else I would have been kinder in my greeting.’)_ Steven’s eyes widened, before he slammed down his defenses and threw up his shields.

                (‘ _Stay out!’)_ He shouted in his mind while reinforcing his walls. Bucky turned his head sharply to his son and threw him a disapproving look.

                “Steven,” he admonished, “that was so loud, even I could hear it.” Steven dropped his glare and had the decency to look ashamed.

                “Sorry, Professor,” Steven apologized, “I don’t like people rooting around in my mind; especially telepaths.” Charles nodded and continued around the couch. When he finally saw Bucky’s full form, he stopped short and stared wide eyed.

                “Yeah,” Bucky chuckled, “he’s gotten big. I don’t get out much because of it.” Charles moved his chair to sit directly to Bucky’s left.

                “Is this result of the experiments,” he asked. Bucky shook his head.

                “No,” he said, as he rubbed his hand over the gravid bump, “I was born like this. But Yasha is a result of experimentation, and he is why we are here.” Bucky sighed and pushed himself up so that he could turn to face Charles directly. “I assume that Howard has already briefed you?” he asked.

                “Yes,” Xavier nodded, “he gave me a brief overview as to the child’s condition of mind, but I had no idea that you were carrying him.” Charles looked up and saw Scott standing curiously by the door. “You are excused, Scott. I am sure there are some book reports that you need to finish.” Scott’s posture became ridged, before he bolted from the room, most likely to do his homework. Steven smiled nostalgically at the boy remembering his own rushed reports and school work he did for Howard.

                “Yeah,” Bucky said, breaking Steven out of his reverie. “Well, I couldn’t very well let someone else do it,” Bucky paused and rubbed at a sore spot, “this kid kicks hard. If it weren’t for the Serum, I’d be black and blue all the time. But that’s neither here nor there; I came here to find out if you would be willing to take Yasha on as a Student. He will have special needs physically, and from what little my son will tell me, mentally as well.” Charles looked up at Steven and saw shame and regret in the young man’s eyes.

                “Yes, I had gathered that from what Mr. Stark told me,” Xavier said. (‘ _Your brother will need a lot of treatment before I could fix what has been done.’)_ Charles projected to Steven. Steven flinched but covered it with a sigh.

                (‘ _I owe it to him to fix this,’)_ Steven replied in kind, _(‘and I don’t trust myself not to make it worse. I love Yasha, but I still see_ them _when I’m in his mind. The temptation to just undo him to spite them would be too great.’)_ Charles smiled.

                _(‘Thank you for not lashing out at me this time,’)_ Charles projected, and Steven smirked. (‘ _Those kind of mental attacks give me headaches.’)_ Steven smirked even wider and rolled his eyes in acknowledgement.

                (‘ _I hear that.’)_ He replied.

                “I am glad to be of some sort of service to you, Sergeant,” Xavier said, “after all you did for my friend, it’s the least I can do.” Bucky raised a brow in curiosity and slight confusion.

                “Friend,” he asked. Charles looked startled for a moment before he rolled his eyes at his own forgetfulness.

                “Yes, an old friend,” Xavier elaborated, “a Mutant who went by the name Erik Lensherr.” Bucky puzzled at this for a moment.

                “Lensherr,” Bucky mused, “Lensherr. Why does that sound familiar?” he looked up at Steven for some elaboration. Steven looked just as puzzled before a moment of clarity brightened his face.

                “Erik Lensherr,” he said, “wasn’t he that kid we liberated from one of those camps; the one who could move metal?” Bucky thought for a moment before the memory was finally jogged out of the dusty corners of his mind.

                “Yeah,” he affirmed, “the one that doctor was experimenting on. If that doc hadn’t fled when he heard us coming, Steve would have snapped his neck after seeing what he did to that boy.” Bucky rubbed his neck and mumbled, “I was sorely tempted to track him down and finish him myself.”

                “Erik is your friend,” Steven asked. Xavier smiled with a bob to his head and steepled his hands in front of his lips.

                “That is a complicated answer,” he said, “but the short one is yes; we were once friends. He spoke of you and your Captain often in those early years. I think he wanted to live up to the man’s memory, and yours.” Bucky smiled and a sad nostalgic look crossed his face.

                “Yeah,” he said melancholy, “Steve had that effect on people.” Bucky looked up at Xavier with hope in his eyes, “so you’ll help him?”  Charles smiled warmly.

                “Of course,” Xavier replied, “I will do everything I can to help.” (‘ _and that offer of help applies to you as well, Steven,’)_ Steven quirked his lips in a small smile and looked at his Ada.

                (‘ _I don’t know how much you can help me, Professor,’)_ Steven said mind to mind, (‘ _but I’ll keep it in mind.’)_

~**~*~*

* * *

 

 It was the fifteenth of January when the Howling Commandoes finally met Arthadan. Arthadan had returned from his business in the east to visit with Bucky and Steven just in time for the Howling Commandoes annual get together. They are completely floored when he entered the house after Steven let him in. it was like looking at an older more hardened version of Steve. But the one to really feel the keenness of Steve’s absence was Peggy. Steven came into the living room with Arthadan at his heels and introduced him.

                “Arthadan,” Steven said, “these are the Howling Commandoes; Steve’s old team. That’s Dugan,” Steven pointed to the aging redhead with the handlebar mustache.

                “Pleased to finally meet you,” Dugan said and tipped his bowler hat. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Arthadan smiled warmly and Dugan saw Steve’s boyish smile.

                “Dernier,” Steven said as he gestured to the aging Frenchman.

                “Messieur,” the aged Frenchman greeted. Arthadan shook the man’s proffered hand with a nod.

                “Gabe Jones,” Steven introduced the aging black man. Arthadan grasped Gabe’s hand firmly and smiled.

                “Pleased to meet you,” Gabe said.

                “Likewise,” Arthadan replied.

                “Morita,” Steven gestured to the graying Asian. Arthadan smiled widely and shook Jim’s hand.

                “Nice to meet ya,” Morita said. Arthadan’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness.

                “And to meet you,” Arthadan said.

                “And this is James Montgomery Falsworth,” Steven introduced the aging Englishman.

                “It is a true honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Arthadan,” Falsworth said. Arthadan grasped the offered hand and smiled in a polite and dignified manner.

                “It is an honor to meet you as well, good sir,” Arthadan replied eloquently. Steven laid his hand on Arthadan’s arm and waited for the man to look at him. When he did, there was confusion in his eyes. Steven nodded his head at Peggy, who up until this point was sitting in a chair staring at Arthadan with old longing.

Steven moved past the Numenorean king and placed his hand on Peggy’s shoulder. A light squeeze was all it took for the woman to look up at him. There was desperate want and longing in her eyes, and Steven smiled sympathetically at her before he looked up at Arthadan.

                “And this is Margret Carter, known as Peggy,” Steven said. Arthadan pulled away from the group of old soldiers and moved to kneel before the woman.

                “Even I can see the ghosts of a lost love in a woman’s eyes,” Arthadan said, “I must look so much like him.” Peggy nodded mutely, and Arthadan’s eyes became sad as a sympathetic smile pulled on his lips. “I know I am not him. And I am sorry for your loss. I wish I could bring him back. Alas that I cannot, for I know it would sooth you of such pain and longing. We cannot change the past, Peggy, but we can try to make the future one he would be proud of.” Peggy finally cracked a smile and held up her hand to Arthadan.

                “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Arthadan son of Amandil,” Peggy said. Arthadan smiled charmingly and brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. The action brought a snort out of the director of SHIELD and she raised her eyebrow at his cheeky behavior. “I will say, though, you have a bit more charm than he did, if only slightly.”

Arthadan grinned and pulled up a footstool to sit on.

                “My mother raised me to be polite,” he said. “Though she was aged in years when I was born, she still wanted to instill in me the values of our people. At the time there was not much of that old values and manners being displayed.” Peggy quirked an eyebrow at the morose tone in Arthadan’s voice and annoyed expression on his face.

                “What was it like,” she asked, and Arthadan raised his head and quirked it questioningly. “Your home, Numenor; what was it like?” Arthadan dropped his gaze to his hands and huffed in laughter.

                “I didn’t see much of it when I was young,” he said. He tipped his head back and sighed. “As I said, my parents were old when I was born, old enough that my own brother could have been my father; though he was still far older. My nephews were grown up by the time I was born. And as for Numenor, it had fallen into shadow. My father saw this and took me often on trips to Middle Earth. My mother hated it but it was better than becoming a mindless goon for the rest of the Court.” Arthadan sighed and a memory passed in front of his eyes. “Mother and father agreed to send me to school, but when that failed, tutors were brought in. they thought I was incorrigible and incapable of learning the finer qualities of Numenorean Court life, so they told my father that I would never be capable of anything but a simple soldier. They were encouraged by members of the Royal family to ensure that I would be withheld from the Court.” Arthadan saw their curious faces, and chuckled. “My father was the Lord of Andúnië, and as a result if the house of the King fell, he was next in line for the throne. There was resentment towards the Houses of the Faithful in those years, even outright hatred, but my father only had one son. As a result he was mostly ignored, even after my brother had two sons of his own.

                “But when I was born,” Arthadan continued, “it changed everything. So when my father went on one last trip to Middle Earth, I begged to come. I hated schooling. It bored me to tears listening to those academic upstarts drone on about things they barely understood themselves. I had no love for my tutors and they had none for me.” Bucky barked out a laugh.

                “Sounds just like Steve,” Bucky said, and Arthadan smiled.

                “Yes, well, my mother didn’t like it,” Arthadan said, as he rubbed the back of his head, “I was only about seven, and she wanted me to be a good example of their house. I was the spare, and if I was academically trained I would make a good catch for a husband. It was nearing the end of the last King’s rule when I was born, and I was very young when the Queen claimed the throne. She was unwed and I thing mother had hopes of me marrying her one day. Tar Míriel was a lovely woman, but not my type. She became more a friend later than a possible spouse.

                “Anyway,” Arthadan continued, “I went to Middle Earth with my Father and brother to meet with the elves. I was so young, I didn’t understand why they were having discussions with them and frankly I didn’t care. All I cared about was seeing the High Elves, and possibly seeing a Noldor craftsman. I had no idea that I would end up becoming an apprentice to Celebrimbor himself.”

                “How’d that happen,” Dugan asked. Arthadan sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

                “I’d slipped away from my father and found myself in the craftsman’s quarter,” Arthadan explained. “I found a shop with an elvish blacksmith and started asking questions. I think he was just humoring me at first, when I asked if I could help him, but he let me. Next thing I knew there was this tall and imposing Noldor with bright eyes looking down at me and my work. He asked me some questions, mostly about my schooling.” A nostalgic look stole over Arthadan’s face. “He asked me what I wanted to do, and I told him: I wanted to be a craftsman. I wanted to make beautiful things. Buildings, sculptures, jewelry, armor weapons, I didn’t care as long as I could make it. He gave me this strange look, and then asked me who I was. I told him, and he looked startled. He had no idea I was Numenorean,” Arthadan giggled, “he thought I was an elfling.” At the confused expressions on the group’s faces, Arthadan tugged on the top of his ear. “I had pointed ears like an elf for a long time.

                “He left me alone for a while and talked to the smith for a while before he turned and left.” Arthadan said and smiled, “he came back a little while later with my brother and father. He showed father what I had done for the master and asked me if I would like to be his apprentice. I accepted, naturally, and father I think finally understood why I was failing so badly. It wasn’t that I was unintelligent; it was because I was bored. I could read and understand things on my own, but I wasn’t challenged in the classroom. I needed to do things with my hands. So my father reluctantly allowed me to go. It wasn’t until I was packing my things to leave again for Middle Earth that I found out who my new master was.” Arthadan smiled proudly but a sad look came over his face.

                “I later learned that father was not as reluctant as I thought to the idea of me leaving Numenor for schooling,” Arthadan said. “Things were getting bad in Numenor, especially for those who were Faithfull. Father and mother didn’t want me to grow up under the constant threat of oppression, so when Celebrimbor offered to become my teacher, they jumped at the chance. It meant I was safe, but that I was also going to live among the elves of Eregion.” Arthadan grinned at the memories. “I learned so much in those days. Celebrimbor became like a father to me as the years past. He was there when I began having prophetic dreams, and he was there when I learned that Ar-Pharazon had usurped the throne.” Arthadan sighed.

                “What was it like when you got home,” Gabe asked. Arthadan looked pained.

                “It was even more difficult, when I got back,” Arthadan said. “I was grown but not yet of age, and I had spent the majority of my life among the elves. Then war came.” Arthadan’s eyes became distant, and he shuddered. “I was never gladder to have not been of age than when Numenor went to war. I knew that it was because the Elves needed help but I could not in my good conscience swear fealty to that man, that usurper! When I finally came of age, my father had commissioned my armor and sword for me. Celebrimbor made it himself, every inch, every rivet, every ring of mail he made himself. And he didn’t just make the plate armor, oh no, he fashioned me a shirt of Mithril rings, made the armor from Mithril, forged me a sword worthy of the great kings of old, and fashioned me the Star. The Star of Arthadan they called it, forged from Mithril and the cutting shards of the Silmaril; the very one that shone in the sky at night.” Arthadan looked sadly at his hands. “That was a personal gift from Celebrimbor.” A wobbly smile pulled across Arthadan’s face and tears welled up in his eyes. “Along with the bow and quiver, be spelled to never run out of arrows, and my glaive. It was only when I opened up that gift that I knew that Celebrimbor loved me like a son.” Tears ran down his face but he took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

                “When the ‘ _king_ ’ returned,” Arthadan spat, “he brought that forked tongued pretty faced serpent with him, as his ‘ _prisoner_ ’. I knew the moment I set eyes on him, that he was evil. I tried to warn the council, but they didn’t listen. After a while the prisoner became the council of the king, and whispered his poisoned lies into his ear. It got so much worse for the Faithful after that.” Sadness stole over Arthadan’s face again and he closed his eyes.

                “And then, one night, I had a dream,” Arthadan said softly. He opened his eyes but they were stilled distant as if he was still seeing the vision. “I saw the Holly trees of Eregion burning, the great White tree burned on a black alter. I saw Celebrimbor carried off in chains.” Horror filled his eyes as he relived the vision. “I heard his cries of agony as a black form clad in iron armor with a horned helm slaughtered his family. I didn’t even know that Celebrimbor had wed, but somehow I knew.” The vision passed and Arthadan pressed his face into his hands. “I heard a foul voice in a foul tongue speaking words I didn’t know but I understood. I saw clouds descend on Numenor from out of the West, and a great wave climbing over the hills and mountains swallowing up everything in its path.” Arthadan looked up and there was a haunted look in his eyes. “I saw that Fall of Numenor, and the death of my dearest friend all at the hands of that monster that wore a pretty face and spoke honeyed words.” Arthadan’s face became wry and he smiled a half smile.

                “Needless to say, I was not happy,” he said. “I donned my armor, strapped on my sword and quiver and marched into the Council chambers.” Arthadan grinned, “It was in full court, every head member of every influential house and their vassals were there. I threw open the doors to the room and pointed at the prisoner named the snake for who he really was: Sauron the Deceiver. I called him a lying snake, and a defiler, who was only loyal to his true master, Morgoth. I called him the ruin of Numenor, and the bringer of destruction.” Arthadan’s grin turned positively shark-like. “I told the court that to listen to his council would be to invoke death upon us all, and the wrath of the Creator. I called him murderer, and defiler, saying that he corrupted and twisted everything he touched to evil. I startled him, and the court. I earned the respect of the Queen that day and her favor.” Arthadan smile softened. “I earned the respect of every person in the court, and the loyalty of several Houses. Three Noble Houses pledged their fealty to me after I left the chambers, as well as several other houses. I earned their respect, but I also earned the never ending ire of Sauron.

                “He tried to have me killed, you know,” Arthadan said. The Commandoes were startled out of their trance in shock.

                “What, who,” Falsworth asked. Arthadan smirked.

                “Sauron, who else,” he replied, “though the king wanted me dead too, and he issued the orders, but it was Sauron he told him to. The man was no more than a puppet by then, with no real power. He sent several assassins to kill me.” Arthadan smile became a grin with too much teeth. “They all failed of course.” The grin fell and in its place was the hard face that they had all seen on Steve’s face when he was truly pissed off. “I took to carrying my bow and quiver around and dressing in full armor, just for the protection. The never got close, but each time he tried and failed, I’d send their bodies back to the snake just to irk him. The last time he tried, I dragged the body back and threw it at Sauron’s feet. I warned him that if he ever tried again, I would kill him. The attempts stopped, so I thought I had gotten through to him, but I learned that it was the Queen who stopped it.”

                “How’d she do that,” Morita asked. Arthadan smiled slyly.

                “She threatened to kill herself,” Arthadan said. The chorus of “what” and “no” brought a nostalgic smile to Arthadan’s face. He held up his hands and the overlapping voices stopped. “Ar-Pharazon only held the throne by marriage, and if the Queen died then her successor would take the throne. Since she never named him successor, her last Will would declare who would be King. She told me that it would name my father as her heir, and knowing Ar-Pharazon like she did; he would never give up the throne. Most of the Nobles and Lords did not recognize his rule as legitimate, but as he was married to the rightful queen, they allowed it. Should the Queen die without an Heir and he refused to step down, there would be Civil War and he would be forced off the throne and killed for treason.” Arthadan sighed fondly. “That woman had steel behind her soft face, and she didn’t pull punches. She liked me for some reason, and entrusted me with her Will so that it would be enforced.”

                “Wow,” Dugan said, “hell of a woman,” he glanced over at Peggy and said, “kind of like you, Carter.” Peggy straightened up and smoothed down her skirt, a prim smile on his face as she held her head high; proud to be compared to a Queen of Numenor.

                “Tell us more, Arthadan,” Bucky asked.

                “Yeah,” Gabe said, “more.” Arthadan smiled and complied gratefully. He spoke of his childhood in Numenor and in Eregion among the elves, and regaled them with wild tales of his youth. And as he spoke they gained a greater understanding of the man that sired Steve’s line. He was like Steve in many ways but in others he was not.

Peggy felt that if Steve was raised among the trappings of his family wealth and nobility, that the two would be indistinguishable. But she found that she liked the differences, for it drove home just how much of a good man Steve really was. Without wealth or noble upbringing, Steve was a prince at heart; lordly and gracious, as a king of old. It dove home how much she missed him.

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: thanks dealing with the word vomit that is most of this chapter. It is very hard to describe what I have only read once, almost ten years ago. The Fall of Numenor is very iffy to me about the time lines, and I love the movies so, I try to make it fit.  
> also, I swear that the meeting Xavier was only one line in my outline. it just grew into a monstrosity on it's own.  
> Also there is a reason I mentioned Celebrimbor having a family. Just watch some cut scenes from Shadow of Mordor, or the cinematics. That scene where his family is killed… beautifully written and executed. It really drove home Celebrimbor’s grief before he died. I liked, I used, simple as that. Also I might consider adding some parts of the game to my little world. But not Shadow of War, that end just kills me!  
> If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Please no bashing, Constructive criticism only.  
> Baby time next! See you soon.


	8. January 20th, 8 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm plush baby, equals worse time ever to have a baby, but that's Bucky's luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: yay baby time. Okay. I am going to try to get as much of this out as I can, but I outlined it to be multiple chapters so there might be a cliff hanger while I work on the next chapter. Apologies ahead of time if I make you all hate me, but I like to buffer myself with at least two chapters before publishing.  
> So the gist is this, storm plus baby equals worse time ever to have a baby. But that’s Bucky and his luck. Again sorry

~~*~**

* * *

 

Bucky looked out the front windows in the living room, and heaved a sigh. It had been snowing since early that morning, and though it started as a shower it quickly turned into a blizzard. Arion and Steven had left to finish up some work with Stark before the storm hit and now they were trapped at SHILED HQ in Manhattan. Nelyo had left hours before them to gather some last minute supplies before the baby was born. Bucky had not heard from him since he called to inform him that he would head for Stark’s office at SHIELD to wait out the storm. Bucky rubbed his belly absently as he watched the snow whirl and fly in the gusts of wind. He could hear it howling through the windows and doors, causing the room to feel cold and for him to liken it to the storms of Siberia. He placed a hand in the middle of his back and groaned at the ache there. It was there earlier that morning but had thus far been no worse than the occasional twinge. He felt no worry when the others left, but now with the baby settled low in his pelvis, he was concerned.

The last time he had given birth alone, was also on a cold winter night and he had lost the baby. Losing that child had devastated him, to the point where he didn’t want to leave his bed for weeks. If he lost Yasha he would not survive.

Bucky groaned and hissed through his teeth as a cramp worked its way around his middle. He leaned on the wall and took measured even breaths through his clenched teeth, hoping that the pain would pass. Only it didn’t. Unlike the last few times this pain didn’t pass, like a false contraction, it doubled and tripled its grip on his middle like a vice. Bucky wrapped an arm around his middle and widened his stance to alleviate the pressure on his pelvis. But the pain shot down and with a gasp Bucky found himself sliding down the wall to kneel on the floor. He leaned his weight on the plaster wall, and curled around his middle with a keen. He stayed like that for almost a minute before the cramp released him from its grip. As it eased Bucky remained hunched over his belly gasping, with wide eyes as the realization hit him: this was not false labor, it was the real thing, and he just had a contraction.

                “Oh, God,” he moaned, gasping and breaking out in a cold sweat. “Not yet, not now!” but his body didn’t care about his pleading, it just continued to do as it was designed. And at that moment it and the baby had decided that it was time to be born. “Oh, kiddo, you’ve got real shitty timing! Just like your dad!” Bucky chuckled before he heaved himself back onto his feet and slowly waddled over to the couch. There was no denying that he was waddling now. The baby had shifted with that contraction and Bucky could feel him settled right in his pelvic opening, in perfect position for birth.

He settled down onto the couch with a huff, and reached for the telephone on the end table. He dialed the number for Howard’s office at SHIELD and prayed that the older man would answer. As the phone rang, he looked out at the blank expanse of white that the wind whipped up and worried his lip.

~*~*

* * *

 

Across town, Nelyo had just barely managed to reach the SHIELD building as the storm unleashed its fury. He shook out his coat, and brushed the snow out of his hair and off his shoulders before he ventured into an elevator to head for Howard’s office. He set down the bags of purchased necessities and punched the button for Howard’s floor. He patiently waited for the elevator to take him up, but he could not help the twinge of worry that tightened in his gut at the thought of Bucky. He started a little when the elevator jolted and the lights browned before brightening and continuing upwards.  Maedhros looked up at the ceiling in confusion and his brows furrowed. He looked at the level meter and silently prayed for it to go up faster.

When it finally opened Maedhros saw Arion and Steven gathered around Stark’s desk, and the Commandoes sitting in various seats around the room. They all looked up when he entered and there was a visible tension in the air. Steven was leaning on the desk with his arms crossed and tapping away with his foot, his knee jiggling up and down with his anxiousness.  Maedhros quickly entered and set the bags down before asking the burning question on his mind.

                “Have any of you heard from Bucky,” he asked. The Commandoes shook their heads, as did Howard and Arion.

                “No,” Steven answered, tension growing in his shoulders as he gripped his arms to keep from doing something rash. “Not since this morning, before the storm hit. Have you?” he asked. Nelyo shook his head, and his brows furrowed in concern.

                “Nothing since before I came here. I called him from a pay-phone an hour ago and told him I would be here to wait out the storm, that was before it got worse.” he said, “had I know it would get this bad I would have just gone home.” Steven uncrossed his arms and gripped the desk in his hands, the wood audibly creaking under the force of his grip. Howard and Arion looked over at him and saw that his jaw was clenched and jumping with his tension, and worried that he would lose his famously violent temper.

                “I don’t like it,” he said and pushed away from the desk to go stand in front of the windows. The storm was getting worse and all that could be seen was a whirling wall of white, as the wind whipped up the snow into frenzy. He stood there for almost an hour as he watched the storm get steadily worse; not speaking only growing more worried. The Commandoes idly chatted waiting for something to happen, and Arion stood silently with Nelyo as Howard finished up some last minute paper work. Suddenly Howard could no longer take the near silence and stood up from his chair. He set his work inside his desk drawers and locked them, before he turned around and moved to stand beside Steven.

                “He’ll be fine,” Howard said, as he placed a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. He has Huan to protect him should anything happen, and there is a Stark Generator plugged in for power and heating should the power go out.” Steven looked at Howard’s hand on his shoulder and sighed; the tension bleeding out of his shoulders at Stark’s reassuring words, as he turned back to the window.

                “I know,” he said. “I just can’t help but worry. I just have this terrible feeling that something is about to happen that I can’t stop.” Howard chuckled and patted Steven’s shoulder.

                “He’ll be perfectly fine, Steven,” he said, and just as if to tempt fate, he asked, “what could happen?” the words had no more than left his mouth that the phone rang. The Commandoes were startled into silence and everyone suddenly looked at the black phone on Howard’s desk. Steven looked at the phone and that dreadful feeling came back.  He looked over at Stark with the same cold glare that had sent Red Room agents screaming away with terror. Howard glanced at Steven from the side of his eye and gulped. He let out a nervous chuckle that died as quickly as it came.

                “I don’t like tempting fate, Stark,” Steven said, not letting up on his glare, as Howard quickly moved to answer the still ringing phone.

Howard picked up the phone and glanced nervously at Steven.

                “Hello,” he answered. It’s Bucky.

                “Howard,” Bucky asked, “when are you guys coming home?” his voice is shaky and breathless, and Howard knew that Steven could hear him from the way that his glare suddenly stopped and his eyes widened in concern. Howard looked at the television set up in the corner of the office and saw the weather report. His shoulders dropped when he saw that the roads had been blocked by snow.

                “It looks like the roads are blocked until morning,” he said, “sorry, Bucky. It looks like we won’t be leaving anytime soon.” Bucky let out a humorless laugh, then half way through, he grunted in pain. “You okay, Barnes?” Bucky didn’t answer him right away, and instead Howard heard him breathing heavily through his teeth. “Bucky?”

                “’m okay,” he said finally, breathless and more than a little scared, and laughed again humorlessly. “Just my luck, this kid has perfect timing. Only the Winter Soldier would decide _now_ , of all times, in the middle of a _freaking blizzard_ no less, to be born!” Howard nearly dropped the phone in shock when he heard that, turning away from the windows to focus on the cradle.

                “ _WHAT!_ ”

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry not sorry about the cliff hanger. I wrote it this way. Please forgive me. (Hides in a closet)  
> More build up to come, next chapter.


	9. 11 PM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: more stuff is coming, baby will be here soon. Just don’t kill me, please. I am going as fast as I can.  
> Fic time

~~*~**~

* * *

 

The Commandoes can’t hear what Bucky just said, but Steven could; as could Arion and Nelyo. Steven went stock still and his face became white as milk.

                (‘ _Did he just imply what I think he did,’?)_ Steven asked Nelyo and Arion via osanwe. The two nodded grimly and turned to see Stark begin to become frantic.

                “Are you absolutely sure,” he asked. Not a second later he came to regret asking that, for Bucky all but screamed in his ear.

                “ _YES I’m SURE!”_ he bellowed, and Howard pulled the phone away from his ear as Bucky continued, “I’ve had three children, Howard, I know the difference between false and real labor. I’ve had two contractions in the span of less than half an hour. Not to mention he’s low, and pressing on my pelvis. I’m having contractions, Stark. I’m having this baby, _NOW!_ ” Howard cringed and looked pleadingly to the others. After a moment he put the phone back to his ear, only to hear more grunting and groaning on the other end.

                “Okay, just sit tight,” he said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Bucky moaned on the other end, before letting out a relieved sigh.

                “Okay,” he said breathlessly, “but you’d better make it quick, ‘cause I don’t think this kid’s going to wait very long.” And with that he hung up the phone. Howard hung up the phone, and took a moment to hang his head and breathe deeply as he tried to keep calm.

                “Stark,” Steven said, as calmly as his nerves would allow, “we need to get back there before something happens, to either the baby or Ada.” Stark ignored him and continued breathing; his hand’s clenched tightly to the edge of his desk. “Stark? STARK!” Steven barked.

                “ _WHAT_?” Howard snapped looking up and sending Steven a glare of his own. Steven was taken aback by the ferocity and shrank back with a flinch.

                “We need to get home,” Steven said again, this time much calmer.

                “ _Don’t you think I don’t know that,”_ Howard snapped, he stood up and crowded in on Steven, forcing him to either back up or stand his ground, Steven stood his ground but shrank under the glare he was receiving. “I want to get there too, but in case you haven’t noticed,” he said, thrusting his hand out to wave at the windows, “there is a blizzard going on out there, and it would be absolute suicide to go out in this storm in the middle of the night,” Howard took a deep breath as he closed his eyes, visibly forcing himself to calm down. He took a step back and opened his eyes, this time much calmer. “Look, I know you’re worried, but we have to think this out rationally. We’d have a much better chance at getting back to the house if we wait out the Storm. We will have to wait until daylight before attempting to get back. Our chances are much better, and by then the storm will have died down a little.”

Steven looked down and nodded, slowly conceding the fact that Stark was right, and that they just needed to wait. Only time would tell if they could make it out at all.

~*~**~*

* * *

 

Once Bucky hung up he did his best to relax, but it was a fruitless effort. He fidgeted and squirmed but he could not stay still, could not calm, so he did the one thing he knew would relax him; he stood up and paced the perimeter of the house, while reciting the major muscle groups of the body, as well as other anatomy.  He had gotten up to the nervous system before a particularly powerful contraction wracked him to his knees. He sank to the floor clutching his middle, gasping for breath that would not come. The pain would not let it, as it doubled, tripled in strength, and before it released him from its vice like grip, Bucky let out a gut wrenching scream.

He knew pain, was intimate with it from his time with HYDRA and the Chair, from his previous births, but this felt like someone was ripping a whole chunk out of his soul. Perhaps it was, because the tie that held Yasha and Bucky together was beginning to sever, and Yasha was separating from his mind.

                ‘ _Yasha,’_ he asked, when he finally caught his breath. ‘ _Are you there?’_ Bucky concentrated for a moment, trying to feel out the bond between them. And after a moment, Bucky felt the tentative brush of Yasha’s mind against his. It was faint and weak, but it was still there.

                ‘ _I’m here,’_ Yasha responded. His voice was faint, as if from far away, but also weak. ‘ _It’s hard now, but I can hear you. It’s almost time.’_ Bucky smiled and chuckled as he ran a gentle hand over his large belly, feeling the faint movement of the baby within. After a moment Bucky forced himself back to his feet, and struggled back to the living room. If he was really going to have this baby, it was as good a place as any. Besides he gave birth in the back of an army truck, having Yasha in a comfortable living room was by far the better option; not to mention cleaner.

                ‘ _Are you okay,’_ Bucky asked as he slowly lowered himself back onto the couch. Yasha brushed his mind again very faintly, and Bucky put his hand to his belly where the baby kicked. He chuckled and trapped his metal finger against the spot with a fond smile. ‘ _I’ll take that as a yes.’_ Bucky sighed and leaned his head back to rest on the back of the couch, while rubbing his belly in a soothing pattern of circles and lines. ‘ _It’s almost time, Yasha.’_ Bucky said.

                “You’ll be born tonight,” he said out loud. A smile pulled across his face before it twisted into a grimace as a contraction built up in his belly. It built up stronger than the others and before long Bucky was panting and moaning with pain. A whimper escaped his mouth, before it was quickly replaced by a scream. The pain suddenly and unexpectedly spiked, and Bucky lurched forward clutching his belly, squeezing his eyes shut as he begged for the pain to stop. The pain didn’t and for a long while Bucky sat there rocking back and forth, caught in the grips of his memories from when he gave birth to his unnamed stillborn.

 When the contraction finally ended, Bucky was crying and gone was the strong soldier from the war, and back was the frightened teen about to give birth alone and afraid. That was the last thing he wanted. He knew now that it was most likely because he had done it alone that he had lost those babies. But even knowing what he did now, with all his newly acquired medical knowledge and desire to be a doctor, there was still a great risk of losing the baby if he gave birth without assistance. He looked at the phone and knew that he had very few options.

Calling for a paramedic was out, because even though they could help, there was simply too much risk of HYDRA finding out from them hospital records. Plus he had no desire to be put in some medical journal for being a medical anomaly. That left him with effectively only one choice, and so he picked up the phone and called Howard’s office again.

~*~*~

* * *

 

Just when everyone was getting relaxed, the phone rang. Howard sprang up from his seat on the lounge and picked up the phone. He had no more than picked it up than when Steven snatched it from his hand. Sending a glare Howard’s way, he put the phone to his ear and answered it.

                “Ada,” Steven asked, tentatively and was rewarded with a breathy laugh on the other end.

                “Stevie,” Bucky sighed. He smiled and thought back to the joy he felt when Monty had first placed the boy in his arms. That same joy now came surging back with the thought and he rubbed his belly.

                “Ada, are you alright,” Steven asked fearfully. Bucky smiled and even more tension left his body.

                “Yes, Stevie,” Bucky answered, “I’m fine. The baby’s coming very soon. I’m gonna have him very soon. Ugh!” Bucky suddenly grunted and pitched forward over his belly as a particularly powerful contraction seized his form.

                “Ada!” Steve cried, listening to his Ada grunt and moan through the contraction. He glanced over at Arion and sees the elf pacing across the carpet, his shoulders lined with worry. Arion absently chewed on his thumb nail, while he paced, and would occasionally stop to rub his hands on his pants and still, only to start pacing again.

After a long agonizing minute, Bucky returned to the Phone.

                “Stevie, you’d better get here fast, because I don’t think he’s gonna wait very long,” Bucky said. Steven saw his father suddenly become ten years older from the worry lines on his face, and everyone in the room looked just as equally frustrated as he was.

                “Don’t worry, Ada,” he said his voice calm, belying the absolute nervous wreck he was on the inside. “We’ll find a way to get home before the baby comes,” reassuring him. Bucky smiled and relaxed again.

                “Okay,” he said, “see you soon.”

Bucky hung up the Phone and relaxed into the couch to try and get some rest. He closed his eyes and before long he dropped off into a fitful doze. Midnight passed without him waking as did one in the morning, but two o’clock found Bucky wide awake and pacing through his contractions.

Whilst in between them, he would walk and pace around the room, but during, Bucky would grab on to whatever would hold him up and squat down to relieve the building pressure he felt between his legs and pelvis. He knew he was dilating and could almost feel it with each contraction dragging him further and further toward delivery. But his waters had yet to break and before they could get moving, they had to break. At three, Bucky felt the need to relieve himself, and waddled carefully to the downstairs restroom. Using the toilet was an experience in and of itself these past few months and at the moment it was even harder.

Bucky had no desire to stand, and sat on the toilet and relaxed. It was over in less than a minute and Bucky was ever so grateful that he didn’t have a contraction on the toilet because he was sure that if he did, he would never have been able to get off again. But just as he was washing his hands a contraction caught him off guard and gripped his middle in a vice. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath and quickly gripped his belly with his metal arm; not wanting to break the fragile porcelain sink. He did grip it with his flesh hand and leaned on it while the contraction racked his form. He felt every fiber in his body telling him to bear down and push but Bucky knew it wasn’t time yet, and didn’t want to get tired before it was time to push so he refrained.  Soon enough the contraction released him and he carefully walked back to the living room, using the wall as support when he felt tired and in too much pain.

Once he reached the living room he settled himself back onto the couch and wearily drifted off again, only to be woken minutes later by a contraction like none other. It squeezed his middle like a vice, and Bucky could feel his muscles tighten and push down on his belly and the baby within. There was a shift, and Bucky suddenly felt the baby settle right into place. He expected the pain to end quickly but it did not. Bucky let out an ungodly scream as his muscles contracted even tighter around his middle. Bucky leaned forward to try to relieve the pain but nothing seemed to help.

Then just as the pain reached its peak, there was a sharp snap, like a rubber band breaking in his belly, before Bucky felt that all too familiar pop right before his pants were suddenly soaked with fluid, and just like that the pressure was gone.

                “Oh God,” Bucky gasped, his face gone pale. He looked down and sure enough there was a dark stain rapidly growing on his crotch. Bucky looked over at the clock and saw it read 3:15 AM, a little over three and a half hours since he started having contractions in earnest, and since he called Stark. Bucky swallowed down his fear and picked up the phone to call Howard again. The phone rang only once before he heard Howard’s voice on the line.

 

                “Barnes, what is it,” he asked, “Are you alright?” Bucky groaned as another contraction began to build up in him.

                “ _STARK_ ,” he whined, as the contraction tightened even further. Bucky dropped the phone not caring what else was said, because his middle tightened even further as the baby shifted down. “ _He’s coming,”_ he screamed _, “My water broke! He’s COMING!”_

* * *

 

TBC…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: I am so sorry about that, but this is getting long. So don’t worry more to come.


	10. The Stealth Response Recovery Jet Prototype

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> interlude before the birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: again sorry about that cut off, but it was getting long. This chapter is more about other stuff. I did change things a smidge from the outline, but not a lot. You’ll see what I mean.  
> On to the fic

~**~*~*

* * *

 

                “Barnes? BARNES?!” Howard shouted into the phone. He looked frantic and a look at everyone else in the room stated that those that were awake were the same. “Just hold on, Sarge, we’ll be there as fast as we can.” Howard hung up the phone and after a minute of deep breathing, he stood up and squared his shoulders. “We’re leaving, _now_!” Howard’s tone brooks no argument as he gathered up his bag and grabbed an emergency med kit from inside his safe.

Steven quickly went about rousing the sleeping Commandoes and explaining the situation. Waking Dugan was an experience that he did not think he would ever do again, for the old soldier still woke up swinging, just like in the war. Steven had to duck back as Dum Dum threw out his arm in a wild haymaker.

 

                “What? What is it,” he exclaimed groggily as he pulled himself up off the lounge. Steven sent the man a sour look as he hauled the man to his feet. Once Dugan finally whipped the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, he realized it was Steven that woke him. “Kid, what’s up? Is it Bucky?” Steven turned and started waking the others.

                “We’re leaving,” he said once they were sufficiently roused.

                “What happened, kid?” Gabe asked, and Steven simply waked over to his father and helped Nelyo get him up from the floor.

                “Ada’s waters broke,” Steven said, “we’re leaving, _now_!” he turned to Stark and saw the man gathering up some sort of keys. “Where are we going, Stark?” he asked, as the inventor marched out of the office.

                “Meet me in the launch bay,” Howard said as he headed toward medical, “I need to grab something first.” And with that Steven watched Howard’s retreating form disappear from view. Steven looked back at the others and gave them his best ‘get moving’ glare.

                “Well, what are you waitin’ for, and invitation,” Dugan said, “You heard the man. We head for the launch bays.” Steven smirked and made his way toward the elevators.

The trip down to the flight launch bays was short, thankfully, and before they knew it they found Stark opening the bay doors above them in the control room on the second level.

The launch bay was massive, and was what you would expect of a secret organization run by Howard Stark. The launch bays consisted of a two level system of walk ways and cat walks all totaling up to over one hundred feet in height. It looked like what a ten story building would look like gutted from the inside. The main level was filled with SHIELD planes and aircraft of all types, and their support vehicles.  The second level was above that and consisted of hanging catwalks and control panels all leading to various doors and control rooms. The main launch control was the one Howard was in, and it consisted of a large set of triple paned picture windows with heat and blast resistant glass; not to mention it was bullet proof as well.  In the room were several control panels with dials and levers that controlled most of the bay doors and systems. Howard was currently opening the main bay doors on the ceiling.

 Steven looked about at the launch bay and realized this was also a testing and development bay for new aircraft. It explained the absolutely massive size and also the need for the bay doors. He did a light sweep of the bay with his eyes before settling on Howard as he took an elevator back down. Steven put his hands on his hips and waited for Howard to explain why they were in the launch bay and not heading for a helicopter on the roof.

                “Alright, Howard,” Steven said, “explain; _Now_!” Stark simply smirked, and not answering pulled them towards the suspiciously empty area in the middle of the bay. He pulled out the device that Steven had thought was initially a set of keys but was in fact a type of remote. Howard held out the remote and pressed a button on it.

                “Behold,” he said, “the latest development in SHIELD’s tech, the Stealth Response and Recovery jet.” As he spoke the empty space before them shimmered and Steven saw a series of small squares outlined by blue light before the illusion dissolved away leaving him with the finished product of his designs and hard work. “The QuinJet,” Howard said proudly. Steven grinned as he examined the finished prototype.

                “Howard,” he said, all the while grinning like a fool, “it’s perfect!” Steven admired the smooth clean lines that imitated the form of a hawk in flight, with its broad wings that were not quite delta wings and its unique engine and cockpit placement. Steven approached the jet and ducked under the wings to examine them, and sure enough found the sliding panels for the rotor engines. “How long has it been finished?” he asked after he moved to admire the cockpit. He quickly found the pivot point where the cockpit tilted down for vertical landing.

                “A few weeks,” Howard said. “I’ve been waiting for a good time to test it.”

                “What is it,” Gabe asked.

                “It’s a prototype, next generation stealth jet,” Steven answered for Howard, “capable of Mach 5 speeds, fixed with vertical takeoff and landing capabilities as well as Retro Reflection panels. Her small size in comparison to her speed makes her the perfect stealth response vehicle. She also been affixed with traditional stealth tech skin, making her all but invisible to radar, and with the paneling she’s nigh undetectable by visible means. The rotor engines make her incredibly maneuverable and quiet, whereas the traditional jet engines are what give her the raw speed. She’s the only small jet in existence that can carry a large payload of troops as well as armaments in her cargo hold.  The expanded hull,” Steven explained as he placed his hand on the wings, “extends into the wing, giving extra space for cargo, and the shape of the wing makes her very nimble for her large size. The only jet that can move like she can is the SR 71 Blackbird, and it’s far bigger.” Steven smiled proudly before he continued.

                “It’s fixed with advanced hardware and computers, making flight easy and less hands on. The computers monitor the systems and the stealth and can even preform advanced autopilot functions. This plane is also equipped with an AI, capable of learning and strategizing as well as handling the flight systems in autopilot. She has an infirmary and armory, fully stocked with the latest in arms and medical technology.” Steven looked up proudly and backed away to get the full view. “She’s the latest and most advanced jet in existence, and fifty years ahead of her time.” Howard pouted at the fact that Steven got to show off but then added to Steven’s specs.

                “It’s also capable of flight at full blackout conditions and, in our case, whiteout as well,” he added. “The advanced radar and visual scanning combined with infrared night vision built into the windscreen on the cockpit, make it perfect for low visibility flight.” Howard preened as the others oohed and ahhed over his latest invention.

                “That’s really cool,” Dugan said, “hey, Steven?” Steven turned around and tilted his head in question.

                “Yeah,” he asked.

                “How’d you know all that stuff about it,” Dugan asked. Steven smiled wide and proudly.

                “I designed it,” he said. Eyebrows rose up to hairlines at that statement, and Steven laughed. “I’d been working on it for a few years, and when I came back to give Howard those files about a year ago, I gave him the designs and specks. I didn’t think you’d be finished this quickly, though.” Howard flushed and pulled at his tie.

                “I may have compartmentalized some of the research and development to the SHIELD R&D department. I didn’t give them everything,” he added quickly when he saw Steven’s murderous face. “I just gave them the shape of the plane and the engines. I had my own company work on the rotors and electrical, while I did the computer work personally.  Well, mostly,” he added, remembering Tony’s delight at working on such and advanced computer and AI development. Steven’s glare became halfhearted when he saw Tony’s jubilance at working with his dad on something he enjoyed.

                “Why are you showing it to us now,” Gabe asked. Howard smirked and turned at knowing smile on Steven.

                “Because I need a good test pilot to give it a trial run,” Howard said. “Then I remembered how good you were with tech, and I thought that since it was your design and your tech that developed it, I thought you might like to be the first test pilot.”

Steven slowly began to smile a crooked smirk that pulled wide on his face. He looked back over his shoulder at the jet with a thoughtful smirk and a twinkle in his eyes. When he looked back at Howard the look on his face was akin to that of that cat that had gotten the cream.

                “Stark,” he said with fondness, “you know me so well. Come on.” He motioned for them to follow. Stark pressed another button on the remote and the back hatch opened with a light mechanical whir, as the hydraulics slowly lowered the ramp.

When they entered the jet it had the feel of a small troop transport, with all the seats lined up along the walls. There was also a table that lit up when Steven touched it, and turned out to be a holographic-imager and computer interface. There were more seats that swiveled around and a pair of cockpit chairs that could turn a full 360 for maneuverability, and ease of egress.  There was a row of parachutes on the rack behind the row of chairs, and several see-through computer screens on mechanical arms that could be moved up or down at will. The screens were so thin that they were practically just glass.

As jets go it was comfortable looking and clean, as well as something that might have stepped out of a science fiction movie. Steven smirked and placed a hand on the control panel. Within seconds the cockpit controls and systems all lit up as everything began to boot up. Steven smiled like a giddy school boy and strapped himself into the pilot harness.

                “You’d better all strap in,” he said, while turning around and pressing some buttons and flipping switches. “This is gonna be a bumpy ride. I don’t care how advanced this system is, snow and wind do not like planes.” Steven turned around and just as he was about to flip the switch to close the ramp he heard the distinctive sound of heels on concrete. Steven smiled and turns his chair just in time to see Peggy come running towards the jet.

                “If you think you’re going up in this without me,” she said once she was inside. She huffed and straightened her jacket and brushed her skirt, then fixed Howard with a scathing glare. “You’ve got another thing coming, Howard. You’re crazy, you know that.” Howard crossed his arms smugly and shrugged, all the while a gloating smile on his face. Steven chuckled and turned the chair around, hitting the cargo hatch switch on the way.

                “Maybe,” he said, “but I’m not flying this thing, now, am I?” Peggy fixed him with a confused look before Howard turned to show Steven in the pilot seat. She fixed Howard with a glare before reluctantly strapping in beside Howard in the front seats near the computer panel.

Steven did quick work turning on the systems before charging the engines, and turning the rotors on for a vertical takeoff. With one last switch flipped, Steven took the yoke in his hands and slowly pulled up. The jet responded perfectly as he rose off the concrete with all the grace of a bird of prey. The front section tilted just as designed so that he could see what he was doing before he leveled out and finally lifted out of the launch bay. Steven grinned and pressed a button on the controls to close the bay doors, and the system responded; closing the massive doors just as Steven wanted. Steven then turned on the in cockpit voice command system and booted up the AI.

                “Hello, Suzie,” Steven said and Howard raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

                “Hello, sir,” a perfectly human sounding female voice answered in an Irish accent. “How may I be of service?” Steven grinned before switching over commands to her.

                “If you could turn on the infrared filter on the screen and imager,” he asked, “that would be nice.” Suzie did as asked and the cockpit screen, which had once been white, was now showing a composite image of infrared and radar images. All in all it looked incredibly detailed and very real.

                “Infrared, and radar composite complete,” she answered. “There appears to be extremely low visibility due to weather. Do you wish for me to monitor the weather system as well?” Steven looked up at the camera and smiled.

                “That would be lovely, Suzie,” he answered, “And keep an eye on the local radar. We don’t want anyone knowing you’re out here tonight. No hacking, just monitor. This is just a test run, Suzie, no need to go overboard.”

                “Very well, sir,” Suzie replied.  Steven smiled even wider as he opened the throttle and pushed the jet into normal flight.

                “Thank you, Suzie,” Steven said, “you’re a lifesaver.”

                “I endeavor to do so, sir,” Suzie said. She sounded prim and proper but Steven could detect a pleased note to the tone of her voice and knew that she just had to be preening at the praise. Suzie quickly took control of the stealth systems just as she was designed and monitored the radar and radio traffic as well. All in all, she was working flawlessly for her first time out, and wondered if Tony had been working with her on her personality subroutines. Steven turned to Stark with a grin and chuckled.

                “Stark,” he said, “you and that kid of yours did a bang up job. Her coding is perfect, and the jet,” Steven sighed, a twinkle of joy in his eyes for the first time today. “Howard, you just might lose your prototype. I love it.” Steven turned his attention back to the controls and steered the jet toward Brooklyn. No matter how much he wanted to go out and really test the plane, they needed to get to his Ada. Steven let out the engines as much as he dared, and prayed they were not too late.

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: again sorry, but it was getting long. Next chapter the big event happens, and we have a guest appearance from a special person. I am not telling. So guess.


	11. Yasha Stepan Buchanan Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> baby time! and guest stars!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: yay, I made it. Please don’t kill me for this next part I just couldn’t help myself. Special guest star coming up and I’m not telling who it is.  
> For those that don’t like birth scenes, warning graphic birth ahead.  
> Onto the fic

~*~*~

* * *

 

After hours of groaning and screaming through the pain, Bucky’s body could finally take no more and turned against him. His waters breaking only doubled the pain not lessened it, and though all he wanted was to collapse and be done with it, he could not. Bucky wanted it to be over as quickly as he could and that meant pacing and walking the perimeter of the room until the contractions changed into something forceful and useful. It was not long after his waters had broken when they changed into the overwhelming urge to bare down and push.

                “Oh, God,” Bucky gasped as he felt the baby’s form more clearly than before. “Oh, please, not yet. Please, God, not yet!” he cried out in vain, clutching to the arms of a chair to keep himself upright.

It didn’t matter, though, because in the next moment the contraction that came was unlike any other, and with it came the overwhelming urge to bare down. This time Bucky didn’t have the strength or will to stop it. He collapsed to his knees on a blanket and trash bag, he had placed there after his waters had broken, and clutched onto the foot stool for dear life.  He held himself up as best as he could with it, and took a calming breath. Once he gathered enough courage, with a tightly clenched jaw, he reached down between his legs to feel how far dilated he was. A grimace pulled across his face as his questing fingers touched the tender area between his legs, and caused the raw opening to flair with pain. Bucky panted through his nose as his fingers breached the opening and gaged his progress.

Bucky all but screamed when he was suddenly and unexpectedly caught in the grips of a violent contraction. Without meaning to, he bore down just a little and felt the baby shift within him, pressing down on his now very wide cervix and beginning to descend. Bucky’s eyes flew open as he felt the baby’s head at the very tip of his fingers, plunged deep within his birth canal. For a moment Bucky simply knelt there in shock, gaping and panting, his face white and cheeks flush with effort. When the moment passed, Bucky felt himself begin to shake with fear. His last birth alone had gone much the same, and had ended in tragedy: a dead baby in his arms and no one to help him revive it. Tears fell down his face at the thought of his family coming home to him holding Yasha in his arms, his little body pale and blue, and lifeless in his arms. In a moment of fear he covered his mouth with his hand to muffle the sobs, as he cried out in pain and fear.

                “Oh, God,” he sobbed, “please, help me! Somebody, help me!” his head fell down between his arms and rested on the foot stool. “Anybody, please, help. I can’t do this alone,” he bleated feebly into the fabric of the stool. Tears ran down his cheeks in hopelessness, as he began to sob and beg for someone to help.

Without realizing it, his prayers were heard and answered; for not a moment later, Bucky heard the distinctive sound of fluttering wings.  Bucky went still and looked up. There before him, where there hadn’t been before, was a man.

He was unobtrusive and forgettable, with blond hair and an almost cherubic innocence about his face, with a confused and curious look on his face. He wore nothing that stood out as unusual, just a green jacket over a red button up shirt and blue jeans, but Bucky’s every instinct screamed danger, run! But since Bucky was currently in the throes of labor and about to give birth, he couldn’t run. So he did the very first thing that his training and experience told him to: he grabbed the gun taped under the side table lightning quick, and shot him with deadly accuracy through the heart.

This should have dropped the man to the floor nothing more than a corpse, but instead the man, creature, jolted and looked down at his bleeding chest in surprise and annoyance. When he looked up that look was directed at him, and Bucky suddenly felt very afraid for his and his baby’s life.

                “You should dead,” Bucky rasped as he felt another contraction building. A moment later Bucky doubled over the footstool and his middle with a groan, his eyes squeezed shut. Bucky couldn’t focus on anything but his body at the moment, but he could sense the presence of the being kneeling down beside him.

                “Just take a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly, okay,” it said. A gentle hand came up to rub his back, and put careful pressure on the point between his pelvis and back. It was not perfect but it released some of the pain in his back and soothed the ache a little. A careful hand gently but insistently pried the gun from Bucky’s hand before setting it aside. Bucky followed the given instructions and rocked slowly forward and back on his knees as the contraction finally eased. Once it was gone Bucky was left shaking with effort and exhaustion, his arms braced on the footstool and head pressed against the cooler metal of his left arm. It took him a moment to gather his breath before he turned his head and looked at the being beside him.

The look Bucky gave him was absolutely wrecked, and he knew he must look like hell at the moment but he was in too much pain to care, frankly. But what he did care about was what this thing was and why it was helping him.

                “Who are you?” he rasped, and groaned as he felt the urge to push return, along with a building contraction. The being smiled at him and it was an impish smile full of mischief but also kindness.

                “Name’s Gabriel,” he said, and Bucky felt his eyes widen as Michael’s quiet presence stirred within his mind. Suddenly Bucky was seeing through the Archangel’s eyes and he saw a ghostly glow around Gabriel’s form being to show.

It was like seeing a living image right out of a painting. Gabriel was no longer wearing the green jacket and red shirt but a silken white, sleeveless robe, trimmed with gold and red, his wrists clad in gold bracers, and his feet in roman style sandals that rose up to his knees. Around his waist was a golden girdle with a set of smaller belts hanging from it, and tied to it was a scabbard with a three sided sword that looked like a roman gladius in it. Hanging from a separate belt wrapped across his chest was a golden war horn that looked to have been made from a ram’s horn. It was ornately decorated and had a wide golden band around the trumpet end as well as in the middle, and a mouth piece made of silver. The bands were ornately engraved with beautiful markings and sigils and inlaid with jewels. There was a golden chain connected to the bands, and Bucky could see that it was lined with pure silver. Bucky knew without understanding how that the sound it made was loud and boastful with a clear ringing like a silver trumpet, but deep with the timber of a French horn.

But above all, the most awesome sight was the great wings that Bucky could see on Gabriel’s back. They were like the wings Avery’s son had, only much larger, and while they were also white, they lacked the luminescence and snow like sparkle, and they had flight feathers of purest gold. It looked as if someone had taken the white wings and dipped them in gold paint, but only the edges were marked. Bucky felt his jaw drop when he saw them, and momentarily forgot his predicament.

                “What are you,” he whispered in a single breath, in awe. Gabriel smirks and cocked an eyebrow.

                “Oh, I think you already know that,” he said cheerfully. Bucky gulped and curled a protective arm around his middle. Gabriel saw this and rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not gonna hurt him.” Bucky felt dubious and probed at Michael’s presence, but only received a feeling of joy and contentment from the archangel.

                ‘You’re a lot of help,’ he told the Archangel, and Bucky felt a rumble run through his soul that felt like laughter. Bucky’s face twisted in a sour look of irritation, while Gabriel on the other hand, was smiling fondly, and had a thoughtful look on his face.

                “You are one lucky dude,” he said as he turned Bucky over so that he had his elbows braced on the stool and positioned his legs wide apart. Gabriel smiled as he placed himself front and center between them and snapped his fingers. A pair of fresh clean rubber gloves appeared on his hands as well as a medical smock over his clothes. “I don’t do this for just anyone, you know,” he said as he snapped his glove dramatically, before he placed one hand on Bucky’s belly and put the other on his thigh. “Last time I did this was… oh, two thousand years ago, but that was a special case.” Gabriel then began probing Bucky’ opening with careful and experienced fingers, his eyes widening when he touched the baby’s descending head. “But you’re not just anyone, now are you,” he said, with as smirk as he removed his fingers and snapped them. A bowl of water appeared and he cleaned the gloves, before draping a towel over his knees. “you’re old Mikey’s Vessel, and he’s in you right now,” there was a cocky smirk as Bucky’s eyes widened but they were quickly squeezed shut as a contraction tightened around his middle. “So… I’m going to do him a favor and give you a hand. Free of charge, no strings,” he said when Bucky fixed him with a glare. “Just this once, ‘cause I like you, Barnes.”

Bucky suffered through another contraction while contemplating the Archangel before him, and kept him pinned with a fierce look. He wanted to say no, but his head won over his instincts when he felt the urge to push again.

                “Okay,” he said softly, grateful for the help, and relieved that he didn’t have to go through this all again alone. Gabriel smiled cheerfully and placed his hands between Bucky’s legs.

                “Good,” he chirped, “then let’s get this show on the road!” Bucky would have laughed at the angel’s antics if he hadn’t been caught off guard by a fierce contraction combined with the over powering urge to push. “Don’t fight it, Barnes,” Gabriel ordered, “push!”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice, and bore down with all his might. Gabriel calmly counted to ten before ordering him to stop and rest. The reprieve only lasted a few seconds before the contraction peaked again and Bucky doubled over as he began to push.

                “Aah, oh, God!” he screamed as he pushed again. Gabriel’s deft hands quickly moved to his opening as it began to bulge. Bucky threw back his head with a shriek as the baby began to crown. Gabriel grinned, and looked up to Bucky’s flushed but pale face. His eyes were wide and wild with pain, and his pupils were blown so wide that the blue was only a thin ring around the black. Bucky bowed his head to his chest and bore down, his face contorted in a grimace of pain.

                “you’re doin’ good, Barnes,” Gabriel encouraged, “that’s it, just keep pushing.” Bucky’s eyes flew open as he gasped on a scream, his eyes wide with pain and frantic.

                “God, it burns,” he screamed, his wide eyes leaking tears, and his breaths coming in frantic pants. Gabriel quickly looked up from the crowning head to see Bucky’s panicked face. He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s hand and entwined it in his own, letting some of the pain bleed over into him, and giving Bucky and anchor.

                “He’s crowning, Barnes,” Gabriel told him, but Bucky was lost in the pain. The angel pulled Bucky’s hand down and placed it on the protruding crown of dark hair between his legs. That seemed to be the thing to snap Bucky back to reality for the frighten look was quickly replaced by one of wonder. A small smile pulled across his lips as he tenderly stroked the dark locks, and a tear ran down his cheek. “Just a little bit longer, okay,” Gabriel asked and Bucky’s eyes snapped to him. Gone was the frightened look and in its place was one of fierce protectiveness. Bucky nodded just once as he pulled his hand away and grabbed Gabriel’s.

                “Okay,” he said, as determination returned to his eyes. The contraction quickly curled around his belly, and Bucky bore down with it, widening his legs and leaning forward to help things move. And move they did, for with that last push the emerging baby fully crowned.

                “Gentle pushes now, Barnes,” Gabriel ordered, taking his hand back to cup his hands around the baby’s skull. He gently eased the skin around the head to avoid tearing, but there were already some small ones. Blood leaked around the little dark head, but it looked to only be minor. Bucky complied with the order and pushed in short bursts. Less than a minute later the head finally slid free and Bucky let out a choked gasp with relief. Blood and fluids escaped around the head, and Gabriel gently cradled the fragile neck in his hands.

                “Don’t push yet, Bucky,” Gabriel ordered as he probed around the neck for the cord. He looked up and saw Bucky struggling to comply, and quickly confirmed that the cord was not around the neck. “okay, Barnes, this is the real important part,” he said as Bucky leaned forward even more, so much so that he was almost squatting over Gabriel’s hands. “We’ve got to get those shoulders out in one go, okay?” Bucky nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathed through his nose. Soon Bucky’s breathing hitched with a little startled gasp before his face scrunched up as he began to push.

This time the sounds he made were not screams of pain but grunts and groans of effort. Gabriel smiled as the baby turned and he felt one shoulder free itself from the pelvis. He kept his eyes on the emerging baby, and was suddenly caught off guard when Bucky released his hand and placed his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders for leverage. Bucky deepened his squat and leaned into the immoveable archangel, and Gabriel quickly turned back to freeing the last shoulder. Bucky growled deeply in his chest as his head bowed to his breast bone, and Gabriel smiled brightly as at last the shoulder slipped out of the pelvis and out of the opening. Then at 4:10 AM, Bucky’s eyes flew open with a startled gasp, as the baby suddenly slipped out of him. It was so sudden that he collapsed onto Gabriel with a sigh of relief.  Gabriel gently pushed Bucky onto the floor and laid the baby in his outstretched arms.

                “Congratulations, Barnes,” he said with a joyous smile, “you have a healthy baby boy.” Bucky quickly brought the squirming child to his breast just as he opened his mouth and screamed; wailing his indigence to the room. Bucky rapidly began crying as he cradled the little boy to his bare chest. Gabriel smiled at the pair with nostalgic joy and carefully draped a blanket over Bucky’s lower half. Bucky cringed and grunted as the afterbirth was quickly delivered before a contented smile graced his face.

                “Thank you,” Bucky rasped, and looked up at the Archangel, now clean of any signs of birth. His smock was gone as were his gloves, but there was a smudge of blood on his cheek from where he had brushed away his hair after the baby’s head came out. Gabriel grinned and waved him off.

                “It was no trouble,” he said, “besides, I hadn’t seen somethin’ like this in a long time, and I just had to see it.” Bucky smiled, glowing with maternal joy, and not believing a word he said. “Good luck, kiddo,” Gabriel said and leaned down to press a kiss to the baby’s crown, “you’re gonna need it,” he murmured to the baby with a smirk. Gabriel pulled away and stood up, smiling down at the pair with a kindly look in his eyes. “Take care, Barnes, and congratulations. He’s gonna be a fine man someday,” and with that the Archangel vanished just as he came: in a flutter of wings.

Bucky relaxed back on the floor and looked down at the sniffling baby in his arms. He had dark hair and fair skin hiding under the mess of birth and was every bit as perfect as Bucky could have ever hoped.

                “Welcome to the world, Yasha,” he said softly. He probed at the link between him and Yasha and found it cleanly severed. He wondered at this, before a rueful smile crossed his face. “It’s nice having friends in high places,” he chuckled to himself. Bucky sighed and was about to drift off when the door suddenly opened.

                “Ada,” Bucky heard Steven cry out from the entryway. Bucky smiled and let himself simply be for a moment. “Ada, where are you?”

                “Can’t last forever, now, can it, Yasha,” Bucky said to the snoozing baby. Yasha’s nose wrinkled and he squeaked, and Bucky grinned. “In here,” he called out. Within seconds the sounds of rushing feet come into the living room. Bucky looked up with a tired smile, his eyes heavy with bruises under them and his hair stringy and clinging to his face and neck, and saw his friend’s standing in the doorway. Bucky looked like absolute hell, and was holding the baby in his arms, but otherwise was content. Yasha on the other hand was not. He began to squall and cry, squirming in Bucky’s arms.

Steven stared at his Ada with shock, and then at the wailing baby cradled in his arms. It took him a moment to register what had happened, but when it did a grin bloomed across his face. Bucky smiled contentedly back and turned his gaze to his husband. Arion’s smile was tender and full of pride. Though the child was not his, Arion felt every kick and movement from the moment he could feel it from outside Bucky’s belly, and thus the sight before him brought warm feelings to his heart. His smiled widened and Bucky smiled back.

                “Hey guys,” he said finally, his voice wrecked and hoarse from effort and screaming. “What took you so long?” he joked and grinned at their indignant squawks. “Come here and meet little Yasha.” The group quickly crowd around to get a good look, and are met with the sight of a new born baby, beet red from birth. He has Bucky’s dark hair and curls, and Steve’s long dark lashes. His little face shows the sign of Fëanor’s refined features in his nose and cheeks. There is a collective ‘aww’ when Yasha opened his mouth in great big yawn, before his eyes opened to show them Fëanor’s stunning Silver blue eyes.

Stark whistled and grinned at the little boy, wiggling his finger at him to get a smile. Yasha looked up at the object and grabbed at it, before deciding that he was hungry, and turned his head into Bucky’s breast, seeking out a meal. He found a nipple quickly and latched on to nurse. Bucky gasped softly but then sighed as the pressure in his breast was slowly released. Nelyo gazed on at his nephew with a tender and sad smile, but declined to explain to Steven’s questing probes to his mind.

                “Man, Barnes,” Stark said with a grin, “you sure do know how to make ‘em. That boy is gonna be a lady killer when he grows up.” Steven suddenly snorted and spiraled into a coughing fit, when he tried to stifle his laugh. Bucky on the other hand did no such thing. He threw back his head and laughed; a wild and jubilant grin on his face. “What,” Stark asked, indignant, “what’s so funny?”

Bucky continued to laugh before he was simply too tired and sore to continue. He gave Stark a look that screamed, ‘you poor naive fool,’ before he finally took pity on the aged inventor.

                “Stark,” Bucky said, with an indulgent smile, “Yasha liked men.”

For once, Stark was speechless.

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: again sorry this was so long, I just had to get it out all in one go, but not to the point of losing good stuff. Like that little bombshell; I did!  
> Did you like my little cameo for Gabriel? I really liked his character; I just felt he was a little too jaded. Overall he felt like a nice person under the pranks and sarcasm. So I felt he needed to be seen as a gentle and caring person for once.   
> Don’t worry he’ll be back; Later. Part four is fun! (Yay, sarcasm)  
> Next part is one I am dreading: December 16, 1991. I have a plan, don’t worry. I will fix it!  
> Please review this was hell to write


	12. December 16, 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no intro needed. this is the worst day in Tony's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is the dreaded date, and I have a plan, don’t worry. I will fix the MCU mess that Civil War made. No spoilers so just read and review.  
> On to the fic

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Almost immediately after Yasha was born, Xavier started working on his programming. It was a long process that left Bucky shaking and white with fear each time the telepath left the room to talk to him. Xavier explained carefully after the first session that this would not be a quick fix; that it would take years of treatment and deprogramming before Yasha’s mind could be considered normal. And to Steven in private, he told him that the trigger had to be slowly removed.

                “It’s like a splinter so deeply imbedded that it can’t be ripped out,” he said, “only time will heal it. I will work with him every day at the institute, but it is going to take a long time before the trigger is safely and fully removed.” Steven nodded solemnly and took a deep breath. He tried to console himself that the hardest part, Yasha’s birth, was over and that it would only get easier from there. But no matter how much he told himself, he knew it was a lie.

That trigger, the failsafe that Steven had imbedded in the programming and as a result in Yasha’s mind, was like the crucial thread holding the fabric of his mind together. But the mind was fluid and changing, and could heal with time, and it was this knowledge that told them that Yasha could be saved. By slowly over years pulling the thread loose and allowing Yasha’s mind to heal together naturally, they could effectively deprogram him and give him his mind; free and clear of any and all trace of HYDRA’s taint.

It was with this thought that once Yasha began developing faster than normal, the young boy was sent off to the institute for schooling. Just as they had intended, Yasha’s biological development was twice that of a normal human. This meant that while only being a year and a half old he was developmentally at three years physically and mentally much older still. Bucky spent his every waking hour with his little boy, trying to instill upon him the values his biological parent, Steve, had upheld so much. He impressed the importance of protecting others, and helping those that need it. He instilled in Yasha a great sense of pride in who he was, and reminded him daily that working hard was the right way to get what he wanted. Yasha soaked all this up like a sponge, and would always be seen laughing and playing in the front yard with his little toy shield and Captain America costume.

There was also another reason Yasha went to live at the institute: his strength. HYDRA wanted a replacement for their Winter Soldier, and Yasha’s natural strength from his elvish heritage, as well as Steve’s Numenorean, was further enhanced by the Serum flowing in his veins. Yasha had all the physical and mental qualities of a Super Soldier, while retaining his innocence and natural charm. Though many who met him thought him to be a child genius with the naïveté to match, Yasha was, in fact, highly intelligent and had the perceptive and strategizing gifts Steve had; as well as his own awareness of the world around him from his memories as the Winter Soldier, and part of Bucky’s mind.

Yasha was everything that HYDRA wanted in a Super Soldier: he was fast, and strong; he could calculate problems quickly and creatively solve them. He could observe a situation and come up with a solution to the issue in minutes. He had the carbon fiber reinforced bones that Steve inherited from the elves and Yasha from both his parents, and the healing factor to back it up. He was a tactical genius, and a brilliant strategizer. In short, he was a young Super Soldier that was impressionable and, for HYDRA, moldable.

This was the very reason Yasha moved to the institute: he was noticeable. He had Steve’s sense of values and the strength to back it up. He spoke with a thick Siberian Russian accent, another result of Yasha’s programming, but upheld the old values that most thought of as too old fashioned. Sooner or later someone would notice the little boy with dark hair that grew too fast and was too strong, that stood up to bullies, and spoke with a Russian accent. So it was with a heavy heart that Bucky kissed Yasha on the forehead and left him in Professor Xavier’s capable hands the summer of 1990.

That year Howard and Tony had the most horrendous fight. It was a long time coming but it all boiled over when Tony heard that his little partner, Yasha, who was practically his step-brother and intellectual equal, was sent off to essentially boarding school. It was the worst fight they had had in years, and it all stemmed from Tony’s own resentment of being shipped off to boarding school the moment he turned thirteen.

There was shouting and screaming, with Maria caught in the middle trying to stop it before something bad happened. And it did: Tony screamed at Howard that he was a lying heartless bastard that never cared about him. He called Howard a scheming old man that cared more about his stupid company than him.

                “I hate you,” Tony screamed. “You never cared about me! You never loved me! All I am to you is a trophy son to display to your partners and business friends at parties! You love your _Damn Company_ more than me! All you care about is work, and you know what, Dad,” Tony sneered, “I hope it kills you!”

Tony ran out of the room leaving Howard in numb shock. Maria tried to bridge the gap between them but it felt hopeless. Tony refused to talk to her or even open the door to his room. Finally she called Bucky to get the boy out of his shell. Bucky came down almost immediately and talked to Tony. He picked the lock on the teen’s door and entered the boy’s room.

                “You know, it was locked for a reason,” Tony snarked when the door opened. Bucky smirked and stood up from his crouch in the doorway.

                “Locked doors don’t do much good against a former assassin who can pick locks in his sleep,” Bucky shot back. He walked over to the teen’s bed and sat down, his hand calmly folded between his knees.  “So,” he paused, looking over at Tony’s form, “you wanna talk about what happened?” Tony heaved a sigh of irritation.

                “You’re a terrible shrink,” he said before sitting up beside him, “you should stick to being an M.D. you’re better at it.” Bucky smiled but waited patiently for Tony to crack under his gaze. Eventually he did, and not very long after too. Better men had cracked under the weight of his gaze than him, and Bucky knew it. “It’s just he was so blasé about it. It’s not like Yasha wasn’t like a second son to him, but he was, and he just…. It’s like he didn’t even care,” Tony stood up and started pacing and gesturing, while Bucky calmly smiled. The kid talked with his hands. “He’s too busy to do anything but work, and when he does have time, he’s on that damn ship. A swear he cares more about a dead man than his own son.” He looked over at Bucky and saw the carefully blank look on his face that always appeared when people talked about Steve. Tony winced and his whole form drooped. “I’m sorry, Uncle Bucky. I know he was your best friend, it’s just. Ugh,” Tony growled as he pulled his hair in frustration. “It’s like I have to live up to Steve in everything. It’s like having a favorite older brother who I’ve never met, and I have to be as good as him. And I’m not!” Bucky reached out and tugged Tony back down onto the bed and wrapped an arm around him.

                “I know,” he said somberly. “Steve had that effect on people. It doesn’t excuse Howard’s behavior, but Steve is hard to live up to. He shouldn’t make you compete with a memory.” Bucky hugged Tony closer when he leaned into him and began to shake with frustrated sobs. “But it wasn’t Howard’s decision to send Yasha to school, it was mine.” Tony pulled away and gave him a mortified look. “Yasha is special, Tony. And as much as I want him with me, he’s better off at the institute where he can get the help he needs. He’s safer there, Tony. As long as he’s there, HYDRA won’t find him, or me.”

~~*~*

* * *

 

That was the hardest discussion Bucky’d ever had with the boy, and the feeling was mutual. Tony forgave Howard and apologized for yelling, but those feelings of resentment were still harbored and were not resolved. Bucky didn’t know how to broach the subject of Howard’s resumed searches, and thought it best to let that dog lie, for now. But unfortunately, they never got the chance to deal with it, because it turned out that Howard was working on the Super Soldier Serum for years and finally, with Steven’s blood and further understanding, he cracked it.

But where success breads fortune, in this case all it brought was a death sentence. With Howard’s further investigation into some of the more illicit activities in SHIELD revealing HYDRA’s involvement and infiltration, as well as success in finally creating a viable version of the Serum, HYDRA had finally had enough of his snooping, and placed a price on his head. Not only that, but on Maria’s and Tony’s as well.

Steven intercepted the transmission before the assassin could receive it and killed the would-be assassin before he could finish the job. The immediate threat had been neutralized but the price was still on Howard’s head and the whole Stark family was in danger. Not only that but Steven also discovered that the call for the hit came not from within SHIELD as he had suspected, but from within Stark Industries itself, and fairly high in the company ladder.

Steven told Howard and the man sat in his office chair in numb shock. His face was white and as pale as his hair. He knew that someone wanted to kill him, and he suspected it might be HYDRA, but to know that the hit came from within his own company just about broke his heart. He worked hard to build it, and had hopes that Tony would take the reins someday, and make it a better company than the one he built. Turn it into what he had dreamed it would be, a company focused on the future and creating a better and brighter tomorrow with clean energy and advanced technology. The knowledge that HYDRA or someone that worked with them was in his own company, working to undo all his hard work, left him tired and truly feeling his age. All he wanted at that moment was to go home and kiss his wife and hug his son, and tell them, especially Tony, just how much they meant to him.

His video on the Arch Reactor might tell him, but Howard hadn’t thought that the only way his son would know just how much he meant to him, was by seeing an old film he made in the 70s. Once it finally sank in, Howard looked up at Steven and asked the dreaded question.

                “How long until they get us,” he asked resigned to his fate, but not Tony’s. “Is there a way to stop it, or save Tony?” Steven looked long and hard at the aged inventor, before he answered.

                “Make it look like they got you and your wife,” he said, “and the Serum was destroyed with you.” Howard sighed and stood up. He hung his head between his shoulders as his hands were braced on the desk, and tried to absorb the idea that he would have to “die” to keep his son safe.

                “And Tony,” he asked.

                “He lives,” Steven said, “but he can have no memory of my Ada and I; it would be too dangerous. HYDRA has telepaths, and if they find out that I’m alive and my Ada too, it would be disastrous.  It’s best he thinks you’re both dead so that it won’t be a lie if they scan him.” Howard heaved a sigh and stood up straight. His face was full of steely resolve and he didn’t even flinch at Steven’s pitying look.

                “When,” he asked.

                “You’re due to take the samples from the Pentagon to your facilities outside the states in December, yes,” Steven asked. Howard nodded, his eyes becoming bleak.

                “December 16th,” he answered, and then huffed out a wry laugh.

                “What is it,” Steven asked.

                “December 16th, 1991,” he answered, with a rueful shake of his head, “most people don’t know the day they’re gonna die, but then again when do I do anything by halves.” He sighed, “Maria can’t know. Not until we’re on the road, not until it’s nearly time. She won’t take it well, and we can’t have Tony knowing.” He looked at Steven, that same steel back in his eyes. “How do you want to do it?”

                “LMD’s,” he answered, but as Howard began to shake his head, _‘that won’t work,’_ in his mind, Steven continued, “my LMDs will pass muster. Plus I have a friend in Upstate New York that can help us with the rest. There’s a mansion up there, off the grid, and out of the eye of the public and HYDRA. Once you get there, I’ll explain the rest.”

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The drive to the pentagon was quick and painless, but when Howard stopped the car on a back road just out of town, and nowhere near the airport, Maria knew something was wrong. Howard turned off the car and sat in his seat, clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

                “Howard, what’s wrong?” she asked, “Why have we stopped?” Howard hung his head, his breathing erratic and shaky.

                “We’re waiting for a friend,” he said. Maria didn’t understand and turned in her seat. Before she could say anything another car pulled onto the road and flashed its headlights. Howard looked into the mirror and Maria saw the fear in his eyes. He pumped the brakes, causing the lights to flash then switched on the caution lights. He dropped his hands from the wheel and looked at Maria, and she saw regret and sorrow in his eyes. “Maria, before he gets here, I need to tell you something. I love you so very much. And I am so sorry for this, for everything!” his voice was soft and shaking, and for the first time in her life with him, Maria knew he was afraid. “I made a mistake, honey. Now our son has to pay for it.”

                “Howard,” Maria said, “I don’t understand. What mistake? What’s happened?” Howard looked at her and opened his mouth to answer when there was a tap on the glass. Howard looked out the window with wide eyed panic. He swallowed hard and rolled down the window.

                “Yes,” he asked softly. A figure leaned down into view and Maria saw Steven’s unsmiling face look back at them with sorrow in his eyes.

                “It’s time, Howard,” he said, and Howard closed his eyes in defeat. Steven looked over his head at Maria and she saw sadness in his eyes. “Mrs. Stark, I’m going to need you to step out of the car.” Maria clutched Howard’s arm, and shook him.

                “Howard, what’s going on?” Maria asked fearfully.

                “Your husband won’t be harmed, Maria,” Steven said calmly, “but I need you two to leave the car.” Howard looked up and she saw the resignation in his eyes.

                “Come on, Maria,” he said with a soft smile, “it’ll be alright.” Howard unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He stepped out of the car and leaned down to look at his wife. He gave her a reassuring smile and held out his hand. Maria undid her own seat belt and slid out the same side. She took Howard’s hand and stood up, clutching her purse in her hands. Howard put his arm around her and held onto her tightly. He looked up at Steven and gave him a steely look of resolve. “Just get it over with.”

Steven nodded slowly and raised his hands. He took a breath and closed his eyes to center himself before he opened them and fixed his gaze upon the pair. Maria winced as she felt a tingling sensation all over her body and from the grip on her that he had, Howard felt it too. She shut her eyes quickly with a hiss as she felt a pressure in her head. It felt like someone squeezing her mind, and rooting through her thoughts. Then just as quickly as it started it was over, and the strange sensations were gone. Maria opened her eyes and widened them when she saw an exact duplicate of her and Howard standing between them and Steven. She looked over their heads and saw that Steven’s eyes were glowing with intense pale blue and gold light, and his hands were surrounded by a similar gold and silver light. After a minute the glow faded around his hands and his eyes slowly lost the unearthly light within them but they remained bright and intense as if he were no longer suppressing the light from within. He lowered his hands and sighed.

                “It is done,” he said. Howard sighed and the double turned around and escorted Maria’s to the car. Howard held onto her as she watched in confusion as the pair of doubles got into the car and drove away.

                “Howard,” Maria asked in confusion, “what just happened?” Howard looked as Steven, who simply turned and gestured to the car.

                “Take the car to the institute, Howard,” Steven said, his eyes hardening, “and don’t stop for anything. I’ll meet you there.” Howard nodded, and began escorting her to the new car. Maria looked from her husband to Steven as she walked.

                “I’ll explain when we get there, Maria,” Howard said, his shoulders loosening just a little. Maria pulled up short and turned in her husband’s arms. “I will explain, Maria, but we really have to go.” Maria looked over her shoulder just in time to see Steven’s form ripple before her very eyes and change into his Ada’s; dark and long hair, metal arm, black Kevlar and leather armor and all. Steven, wearing Bucky’s form, got onto his motorcycle and took off down the road. Howard followed her sightline just in time to see Steven disappear around the bend.

                “Please, Maria,” Howard begged. Maria numbly allowed Howard to pull her towards the car. He placed her in the passenger seat, before rushing around to the other side to get in. Howard started the car and peeled off in the opposite direction from which they were going. Maria sat silently as Howard drove up the back roads towards the highway. True to his word Howard did not stop once as he drove, only barely keeping it below the speed limit, as he drove north.

They arrived in front of an old mansion just before dawn, and drove through the open gate and up the winding drive to the front doors. The snow covered lawn was speckled with snow forts and snow men, showing that it was a place where children lived before she remembered that this was Yasha’s school.

                “Howard,” Maria asked when Howard finally turned off the car, “why are we at Yasha’s school?” Howard dropped his head to rest on the steering wheel for a moment. “Howard,” Maria asked gently when she saw his shoulders begin to shake. She gently touched his shoulder and he looked up at her. Maria was shocked to see tears in her husband’s eye and on his face, as well as the bone deep regret that oozed out from every pore.

                “Oh, Maria,” he said and quickly pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her chest. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” he sobbed. Maria sat there for several minutes unsure as to what to do, as her strong husband fell apart in her arms. She finally wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his white hair. A few minutes later, a familiar bike drove up the drive and stopped beside them, idling for a minute before it shut off.

Steven still wearing Bucky’s form dismounted from the bike, carrying the suitcase Howard had picked up from the pentagon. He walked up to her door and tapped on her window. Howard finally detangled himself from her breast before opening Maria’s door. The debutant lady stepped out of the car quickly followed by her husband, and stood before the disguised assassin. Steven finally dropped the illusion and motioned for them to enter the mansion. The pair followed Steven into the atrium and down a hallway to a disguised elevator. They rode it down to an advance looking lab hall, and into an infirmary.

Maria sat down on the table and Howard did the same on a separate one. Distantly she thought that she should be fighting or asking questions but before she could muster up the strength a needle injected her with a sedative and she fell fast asleep.

~*~

* * *

 

                “How long will she sleep for,” Howard asked, as Steven took the Serum from out of the suitcase and injected two of the bags with a syringe of gold liquid. “What’s that?”

                “A few hours,” Steven said as he hooked up the bags to two IV poles.

                “What’s in the syringe, Steven,” Howard asked. Steven hooked up the IV and carefully inserted the needle into the back of Maria’s hand.

                “An alteration compound,” he answered as he brought the other needle over to Howard. “Avery gave it to me.” Steven carefully swiped the back of Howard’s hand with rubbing alcohol before inserting the needle and taping it down.

                “What’s it do,” Howard asked as he watched the bags of Serum turn an even paler blue with gold shimmers.

                “Your Serum is on paper perfect,” Steven said and looked Howard in the eye, “but it’s still flawed. If given to the wrong person, it creates a psychosis that can turn a borderline personality into a sociopath, and it’s irreversible thanks to the Serum’s effects.” Howard paled, and Steven continued. “This however, alters it to only bring out the latent traits in Numenoreans, more specifically, the longevity and strengthened immune system. Some traits can be stimulated, such as the increased muscle density and carbon fiber reinforced bones, but for the most part, it makes a person physically younger and stronger. Elfstar said that it’s one of a few things he’s working on, but you and Maria will be the only recipients. The rest of the Serum is going to Avery and his family to protect.” Howard opened his mouth to argue but Steven silenced him with a glare. “The world isn’t ready for more Super Soldiers, Howard; it was barely ready for Ada, Steve and me. No more Serum experiments. You’ll need to work on something else while you’re here.” Howard cocked an eyebrow in shock.

                “While I’m here,” he asked, “I thought, “Maria and I would be living in a mansion upstate.” Steven smirked.

                “You will,” Steven said as he inserted the IV, “but just what do you thing you’ll do out there with all your free time.” Steven smirked and put a hand on his hip. Howard conceded with a look of contrition. “Professor X needs someone to help him with the tech around here, and while you won’t have the facilities you had back home, you will have an SR 72 Blackbird to play with.” Howard’s eyebrows went up in excitement, and Steven used the distraction to sedate him and open the IV. The inventor gave Steven a wounded look as he slumped over on the bed.

                “That was a dirty trick,” Howard slurred as the drug took effect. Steven smirked, not the least bit sorry.

                “I know,” he said, “it’s better this way, Howard. Trust me. It hurts, a lot! This way you’ll sleep through it.” Howard slowly drifted off and saw Steven’s sad look. “This way you don’t feel it. Goodnight, Howard. See you on the other side.”

*~~*~**

* * *

 

When the news broke that Howard and Maria Stark were killed in a tragic car accident, Steven had already blocked Tony’s memories of himself and his Ada. Unfortunately that meant that a lot of good memories and father/son moments were no longer accessible to the teen, and Tony believed that his father didn’t love him, and that he died without Tony telling him.

To say that Tony was devastated would be to understate it, the boy was completely destroyed. He was found by his roommate and buddy Rhodey hours after, completely drunk and sobbing into the project, he just named Dummy. Steven had to watch all this from the sidelines, knowing all the while that it was a person in Stark Industries that called for the hit. And Steven was pretty sure he knew who. He watched Stane with razor intensity, watching for any slip ups, and while he couldn’t prove it, Steven would later swear to his Ada that he saw the man smile smugly when Tony told him that he would take over after he turned twenty one.

Steven stayed at home for several more months, only leaving to check up on Howard and Maria to see how they were handling things. Maria took it all really well, all things considered: she threw a vase at Howard’s head. He ducked, but still. Howard took it much better and threw himself back into the physical work he had to stop doing long before Tony was born. Once Steven was sure that the Starks were all well, for the most part, and Yasha was handling his treatment well, he took the prototype QuinJet and made for the former Soviet bloc. Just because the Red Room wasn’t active, didn’t mean HYDRA wasn’t finished, and Steven had a war to win.

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: again sorry to put you all through this agony. And I’m going to make you hate me even more in the next. Chapters will be coming out more, because I want to get the 9/11 chapter out before the actual date. The next set of chapters are going to be painful to write and to read, I am quite literally torturing Steven emotionally. I hate to say it but have tissues handy.


	13. Hithlum and Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> character death: you have been warned!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am so sorry ahead of time. Please forgive me for what I am about to do.  
> The kingdom of the Numenoreans is finally founded, and Steven finds the Widows. Not a pretty sight.  
> On to the fic

~~~*~**~*

* * *

 

Hithlum; that is what Arthadan and the great council call their new homeland. Arthadan made sure that his land was fertile and green, and did everything in his power to make sure the land had all the wants his people could have need. The mountains were nonexistent but their people had the gift to restore old mountains to their glory, and they only did so in places where they needed it. Where there were little rivers they carved out great valleys and ancient riverbeds once more flowed with fresh water down to the sea. A fresh water lake formed in the north and the plains grew lush with green grass. Mines were dug to bring out fresh stone, and metal and what they brought out of the earth rivaled that of the mines of Numenor of old. Gold and jewels, and great quantities of silver flowed from the mines like rivers. In one place where a mine was to be dug an ancient and undiscovered Underground River was found and great caverns that stretched for miles beneath tons of earth and stone. Here they built Nargothrond, named for the great hewn city of the elves, and founded a prosperous city.

Where they rose up old mountains from song, came the capital; Ondolindë, named for the famed hidden city of Gondolin. The mountains that rose up around they called the mountains of Tumladen, and the valley the same. The center of trade and commerce was Osgiliath, built on the river that divided north from south, and from it ran the Great North road that ran from the southern tip of Hithlum to the northern most point and the great sea port of Eldalondë, named for the western port of Numenor. The naval port of Andustar was named for the west point of Numenor, and carried the largest naval fleet in the world. It was the pride of the Hithlum navy and the Numenoreans.

These cities they either built from scratch or took existing cities and used their bare bone Spartan structure as a base to build on.  And build they did. Small cities with sad and cold concrete buildings were rejuvenated by the remodeling and facades added to them. Court houses became almost cathedrals of Numenorean architecture, and hospitals were redesigned to match the ancient Healing House floor plans, emphasizing a garden and the power of nature, by healing the emotional hurts to heal the physical ones.

The borders remained closed and only allowed Numenoreans to enter, but allowed people to leave. The lords wanted security before they opened their borders to the world. They kept everything secret to the outside world while inside they worked and toiled away until everything was ready.

Civic centers had artisans’ quarters where blacksmiths and craftsmen of all kinds could show off their skill and sell their wares. Restaurants became almost café’s and inns in their intimacy and food. Fine high dining restaurants felt intimate and comfortable, like a meal at home, and street vendors sold fresh cooked food to customers, and ancient delicacies that had not been tasted in centuries.

The schools that opened in those first few months were a quality that they had never had in the land. Here their children could become academics or artisans; working with their minds or with their hands, and this was because of Arthadan’s own school experience that it was done this way. It was also important that they teach their people to read and write, and thus Arthadan had it that every student would be taught the common, or the old Adûnaic, and Westron, and those of the High houses, or old Noble families, and those with the ambition, would learn the tongues of the Elves. These were the High Quenya three dialects: Noldor, Vanyar, and Teleri, (or Lindarin); Then the gray tongues or Common Elvish, Sindarin, and the Nandor and Silvan tongues.  It was ambitious but Arthadan wanted his people to be learned, and well read; all of them.

All this before the government was finished ratifying their new Constitution and Bill of Rights, and Arthadan felt it good. He divided the country into two provinces. Mithrim with its large fresh water lake was in the north and Dor-Lomin the south. The north became the land of the vine, and vale, and the south became the land of the farms and mines. It was these two parts that converged upon the city of Osgiliath, and from there to the east the Great East road took them to the Valley of Tumladen and Ondolindë. It was here that the Great Council, with the Houses of the Lords and Commons became the House of Representatives, and the King’s Council became the Senate. The King still had his private council, consisting of the commanders of the navy and other offices of state.

This was where the Government lived, and while in session this was the Home of the Senators and Representatives. It was also the palace of the King and his protectorates, and Lords. This was the public home of the King and the House of Arthadan. This was where Arthadan was officially crowned King of the Numenoreans.

The day of the Coronation found Hithlum being flooded with Numenoreans pouring into their new homeland from far and wide. They came from every corner of the globe to see, at last, their king, and at last their King crowned. They came by the thousands and tens of thousands, all to claim a little corner of the world for themselves and their House. Numenoreans had fallen so low in number, but with a homeland, they had hope again, and with a King, every right to believe in their security. Arthadan had the event publicly open, and televised just as Queen Elizabeth’s was in the 50s. It was full of pomp and circumstance, but compared to the coronations in Numenor of old it was a rather plain one. Arthadan, reunited with his Queen Sarah, rode into the city on a carriage of elvish design, drawn by Arthadan’s two prized stallions, both gifts of the elves, and sons of Nahar; the Stead of Oromë.

There were high tensions that day, for the Kings closest companion, Heraklion believed that one of the natives of the land might pull a stunt, but surprisingly there were none. The people native to the land before the Numenorean’s came were used to the changing of régimes and were resigned to a monarch after the control of the Soviets. After seeing what Arthadan and his people were doing, they were actually glad that the King of the Numenoreans was so kind and civic minded. Not to mention that the new houses being built were like palaces compared to their old shacks. And the food and wealth they brought in, to them they seemed like the saints come down from heaven.

Though they were staunch eastern orthodox, the Numenoreans had no quarrel with them on their faith, and the Numenoreans and Arthadan felt that they should let them keep their faith. They were both Christians in his eyes, they simply did it differently.

The new Kingdom of Hithlum that rose out of the ashes of the Soviet Union proved everything that they believed about the Kings and Lords to be wrong. Arthadan shared his power among the Great Council, and the Judges were fair. It was a Monarchy but where it was important the people got their say, their vote, and in those ways it was a Democracy. It was Constitutional, and carried over many of the laws from the United States that people fought and died for with fervor, and held the qualities of a republic. Arthadan valued the importance of the peoples’ voice and held open court like was done of old, where the people came to him with their troubles. Arthadan did would he could within the law to help, and many times he couldn’t himself act, no matter how much he wanted to, but there was always a way, and Arthadan was cunning. He was Isildur’s uncle after all. He was raised by Celebrimbor son of Curufin, and he was a High Noble in Numenor during the last years. If there was a way to do it, he would find it.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The Widows were not as hard to find as Steven had thought, but they refused to come out of hiding; no matter how much he coaxed them. So Steven, with every ounce of the determination that he used to take down his own, went after the handlers. He found them easily enough, and wasted no time in destroying them. It was relatively simple, or at least it should have been. Whenever he came close to one of them, he would have another blackout, only to wake up later surrounded by bodies and covered from head to toe in blood. The handlers were brutally killed and their bodies torn limb from limb. They were left broken husks on the floor covered in blood and gore. Steven felt horrified that he was capable of doing such a thing, but some part, tiny though it was, relished in the bloodshed and felt sated by their violent deaths. That was when he knew: his mind was beginning to fracture even more, and he was becoming a threat to not only himself, but everyone he ever loved.

Steven knew he was running out of time but needed to free the girls before they could be recaptured again. He went to retrieve them, to tell them it was safe, only to find them scattered throughout the complex, broken, and either dead or dying. Only Anya and Natalia were missing. Steven ran up the old steps to what was an old apartment complex, and as he ran he could hear his Anya’s voice. The sound of her voice again filled his heart with lightness, and the darkness faded from the corners of his vision. That is until he finally heard what she was saying.

                “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed, and Steven’s heart squeezed in his breast. Her voice was full of such guilt and agony. Steven hurried his steps, and began to run up the maze of stairs and hallways.

                “Hold on, Anya,” he said to himself, running up the stairs two at a time, “I’m coming!” he finally made it to the right floor and burst through the landing door. He heard her voice from the end of the hallway sobbing and full of grief. He stopped in sudden shock when he heard another voice from inside the room. It was a woman with a sultry Russian accent and a cruel jeer in her voice.

                “Yes, it is, little Anya,” she said coldly and gleefully, “you know what you have to do.” Steven knew that voice and it sent a cold wash down his spine, as his face paled to milk white. Yelena; one of his students, and the only one he wished he had never trained. The girl was a monster wearing a fair face and pretty eyes. But behind that fair mask, was a cruel, calculating and conniving woman, who would do anything to get ahead and relished in the pain and suffering of her victims.

Steven bolted for the door, and ran with all his might. His face was pale and broken out in a cold sweat. He knew what Yelena was capable of, and he knew she was the one to kill the others. The way they had died, fighting and running told him that whoever had done it was more skilled than any of them. The fact that Natalia was not there told him that she had seen Yelena coming and fled. But Anya was fragile, and would hide rather than fight. She could fight, and she was Steven’s best student, but Yelena was ruthless, and would use any weakness against her. And Anya’s weakness was her fragile heart. She was one of the few to have her memories wiped almost as frequently as Yasha, and all because she felt such guilt when she realized what she had done. Yelena would latch onto that like a viper and pour out streams of vitriol and evil at Anya, breaking the fragile blocks in her mind to keep her from remembering, and thus breaking her.

                “ _ANYA_ ,” Steven screamed. As he neared the door, he heard Anya’s crying, and could feel the guilt and regret pouring of her in waves. It brought tears of desperation to his eyes, and a lump grew in his throat to choke his breath.

                “Go on,” Yelena goaded, her voice colored by mock sympathy. “Do it. It’s the only way.” Steven heard Yelena’s cold chuckles of satisfaction, and Anya’s hopeless sobs. Then there was a soft click, and Steven felt his heart go cold. “You deserve it,” Yelena growled coldly. Steven reached the door and smashed it open.

Everything that happened, in that split second, was engraved in Steven’s memory for the rest of his life. Time seemed to freeze as he saw first Yelena sitting primly on the bed dressed in her skintight black suit. Her golden hair was bobbed at the shoulders and curled naturally around her jaw to frame her face. She looked every bit like a Hollywood silver screen starlet, with her classy golden pin curls styled like Lauren Bacall, but the cold satisfaction marred her looks. Then he saw Anya. She was seated in a rickety old table chair, her luscious dark locks lank and dull; her blouse and skirt disheveled and dirty, her eyes dulled with resignation. She had tears running down her flush cheeks and she held a loaded gun in her mouth.

Steven didn’t even have a chance to react, for in one second, he saw her blue eyes look at him in grief and then…

* * *

 

**_BANG!_ **

* * *

 

They were dull with death. Steven jerked and choked on a gasp as the blowback spattered his face with Anya’s blood. He was frozen as the gun dropped from Anya’s now lifeless hand and clattered to the floor. He felt tears run down his face, as he numbly stepped closer. He knelt down beside her as she slumped to one side, and caught her in his arms. Her face was still lined by her tears, and her lips were stained red by her blood in a mockery of her typical red lipstick. In shock he pulled her close, and pressed his face into her hair. It still smelled like her fruity shampoo, of pomegranates and flowers, but over that could be smelt the scent of fresh blood and broken bone.

Tears escaped his eyes and dripped down into her hair, as he brokenly began to sob. He rocked her in his arms and kissed her hair. He pulled away and rested his cheek on her head, before gently laying her down on the floor. His hands pulled away, and he stared at them, for they were covered in blood and gore, Anya’s. He stared at his hands and cried silent tears as the reality finally sank in: Anya was dead. His wonderful Anya was dead; she killed herself.

Steven felt his mind breaking, as he struggled to comprehend what had happened before his very eyes, and then he heard it: laughter; Gleeful, cruel, unrestrained laughter. Steven looked up from his bloodstained hands and saw Yelena laughing with the same joyous glee as a little child over a funny game. Steven saw her and felt his mind blank for a moment. Then it came; the rage. It boiled up from within him, from a place he didn’t even know he had. Slowly his hands curled up and clenched into tight fists, as he began to shake from the force of it. A fire was stoked in his soul to a raging inferno, burning white hot with the intensity of a sun, bubbling up from within until it exploded. His teeth clenched together in fury and his face twisted in an ugly snarl, his eyes lit with a fire like the Flame Imperishable.

Yelena continued to laugh until the room began to softly shake. It was subtle at first, but it grew until the room was quaking violently under the force of Steven’s power and rage. She looked at him and saw a fair and fell form wrapped in darkness and light, Steven’s guise barely holding through. His face twisted in powerful wrath, and his eyes filled with a hallowed light, so much so that they looked like stars. For the first time in years, Yelena was afraid. And that fear, shown on her face, and it was the last thing Steven saw as his vision turned not black, but red.

In the next moment, when his vision cleared, Steven saw Yelena’s lifeless corpse lying on the bed, and her head at his feet. The tears of grief and rage were stemmed only a little, as his wrath cooled. He felt no remorse for what he had done, and instead in all honesty felt relief. Yelena was a psychopath that deserved her fate after all she had done. She gladly killed for the Red Room and the KGB, and if given a chance, for HYDRA as well. She was dangerous and violent, and there was no way to stop her other than death.

Steven saw the bullet wound in her head, and the blood on her chest and throat, but felt nothing but satisfaction. Anya got justice, as did the hundreds of others who fell beneath Yelena’s knife, and crosshairs. Steven relished in this feeling for a moment before, reality came crashing down upon him: he just brutally killed a woman, and he felt nothing but satisfaction. Disgusted by this and by the state of his form he sank down by the bed and began to cry.

He curled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms across them. He dropped his head into the bowl of his arms and began to sob. He mourned for Anya, and for the other girls, and especially for himself. The programming was breaking down, and was leaving him unstable. He had always suspected that his mind had fractured and split as a result of the trauma, but until recently, he had no real proof. Now he did and he knew that it was beginning to come apart at the seams. That he was coming apart at the seams. He needed help, and quickly, before he went mad. The personality imprints were pulling apart, and without a telepath to remove the psychic conditioning, they would destroy him completely. The second personality was dangerous, not only to others but to himself. He could not go on like this anymore.

Steven lifted his head out of his arms and felt the resolve in his soul. It was time to end this. He stood up with a renewed purpose, and gathered Anya’s body in his arms. He placed her on the bed as he gave a mental shove, and tossed Yelena’s corpse off it. With gentle hands, he wrapped her in the linen sheets, and made for her a burial shroud. He stripped one edge off the sheet and wrapped it around the shroud like a mummy. After he was done he carried her down the stairs and into the QuinJet he had waiting in cloak. He placed he body in the med bay, and pressed a tender kiss to her brow one last time, tears running down his cheeks, before he went back to deal with Yelena’s corpse. He burned it where it lay, salting it before he lit the match, then placed the ashes in a box of consecrated wrought iron lined with silver and Mithril. He buried it below the building, and then burned the apartment complex down around it. By the time the local fire brigade got there, the fire had turned the building to ash and rubble.

Steven found the grave of Anya’s father and mother, and buried her in the plot next to them. With tear-filled eyes he raised his hands above his head and dust from the tombstones past congealed to form a beautiful grave stone of purest white. The statue was of Anya, her lithe form draped in a flowing dress, her body poised in dance, as wings of purest white rose from her shoulders as if to carry her away. When Steven dropped his hands to the pedestal, the marker was engraved with the words…

                “ _Beloved Anya, daughter of Nikoli and Mirwen: beloved of Steven. She was the love of my life, and the light of my soul, and shall be mourned till then ending of the world.”_

Steven left without turning back, but his heart remained in that place for years to come.

~*~*~

* * *

 

Natalia’s handlers were simple to find, and simpler to kill. But Steven didn’t want the temptation to do it in person, so he picked a spot and sniped them from a distance. It would be what Yasha would have done for his little Natashenka, so he did the same. He finds Natalia not far from them, and hands Natalia her code book. There is a look of confusion and apprehension of the redhead’s face, as she tentatively took the book in her hands.

                “It’s yours, Natalia,” Steven said. She looked up at his with beguiling green eyes, filled with hope for the first time in her life. Steven smiled softly. “You’re free, Natashenka; they can’t control you anymore.” Natalia pulled the book to her breast and wrapped her arms tightly around it. A tiny smile pulled at her lips, and her emerald green eyes became warm and soft.

                “Thank you, _Bol’shoy Brat_ ,” (big Brother,) Natalia said softly. “Will you ever be finished?” Steven looked at the little redhead sadly and nodded, grief unbounded reflected in his eyes.

                “One way or another, Natalia,” he said, his eyes hardening, “it will and with me.” Natalia smiled sadly and gripped his hand tightly.

                “Be careful,” She said, “they won’t hesitate to kill you.” Steven smirked.

                “I know,” he said wryly, “but they won’t; they can’t. Not until I’m finished.”

The pair parted ways and Steven set his sights on the last of the KGB and the Red Room, attacking base after base with no mercy. His goal: Col. Alexander Lukin, the former head of the Red Room project in the KGB. Steven knew it would be tough, but he also heard that Kiev was lovey this time of year.

~*

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: I know. I’m sorry! I know. Please don’t kill me! I wrote this part years ago, and I had no idea that people would like them so much. I made me cry to do it, but it is character building. Please don’t kill me. We’re getting close to the endgame for Steven here, and soon it will be the end of the 90s. I hope to have a lot of this done before September. I want to publish that 9/11 chapter before then.  
> Next chapter will be the end of Steven’s crusade and the beginning of his treatment. I think I’ll merge the two next chapters together. That way the next part with be a smoother transition to the 2000s.   
> Please review, I do so like them, but no bashing. Bashing is not allowed. Constructive criticism only


	14. The End of the Red Room, The Beginning of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fair warning there is torture in this hence the rating, and sort of Suicide. this is the end of an era, and the beginning of a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: okay so just a fair warning, for those that are squeamish about torture, there is gonna be torture here. Also mentions of psychological disorders and thoughts of suicide. This is not a good place for our hero mentally.   
> Also I have no idea what I am talking about in terms of science and medicine. So from here on out it’s a lot of comic science.  
>  forgive my bad Russian it was google's fault.  
> So, on to the Fic

~~~*~*~*

* * *

 

There is a kill order out on him.

He knew, obviously, but after what happened with Yelena he had ceased to care. It wasn’t what was left of the KGB in hiding that had done it either, nor was it the FSB, their replacement for the Russians, but rather, it was his own government, the CIA and SHIELD, that gave the order. The Winter Knight was to be killed on sight if any agent spots him. If he resisted capture, that is. If he surrenders, he is to be remanded into the custody of the US government pending trial at the UN for war crimes.

Steven didn’t care. His heart was but a beating thing in his breast that never ceased to remind him that he was alive and Anya was not. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t until it was over and HYDRA and the Red Room were gone. Only then would he stop, only then would he surrender to the ache in his chest, where his heart once beat with joy, and where his soul lay shattered in a million pieces. Only then would he give in to the yawning chasm of darkness that grew larger every day. Only then would he lay down his weapons and surrender to his fate; to the Fading of his spirit.

It was his birthday, his 49th, when he finally found the “former” head of the Red Room: Col Alexander Lukin of the Russian Army. There was no “former” about Lukin; he was the Head of the Red Room, no doubt about it, but officially there was no more Red Room, could be no more Red Room.  Lukin took what was left and turned it into a private company, and Steven knew that if he was left unchecked, he would sell the research of HYDRA’s KGB branch to the highest bidder. He could not let the Red Room survive the end of the Cold War, and moved to stop him.

Lukin was not only one of the Heads of HYDRA, he was also Steven and Bucky’s tormentor in the last ten years they were his Assets. He ensured that Steven was locked up tight in his cell with little to no food at times, and he was responsible for the addition of the Controller to his series of handlers; more specifically, Misha and his bastard son Nikola. Those two above all else had earned his unending hatred, but they had disappeared into the ether the minute the Berlin wall fell. Steven suspected that they had changed their names and moved to the US to work for HYDRA there, but he lost the paper trail in France and couldn’t pick it up again.

Kiev was Lukin’s home base, and it was not a coincidence that it was also the location of the Red Room archive. It was here that his father, Arion, had found the files that had set him off to rescue Steven and Bucky. But more importantly it contained the only copies of Steven and Bucky’s complete hard copy original files. Those files contained not just recorded data, but also photographs in microfiche and videos recorded onto microfilm, with audio recordings of every session he and Bucky’d had with the Programmer and the scientists. Those files were the smoking gun that would cripple HYDRA and destroy the Red Room for good. With those files in hand he could shine a damning light on HYDRA’s activities in SHIELD and maybe restore it to what Peggy and Howard had tried to create for Steve. Steven now knew that the idea was fanciful and optimistic at best. Even if he did get the files, he no longer had the will to do it.

With Anya gone, the black outs were becoming more frequent and the destruction he left in his wake during them more violent. Steven felt that the best way to end this was to end it with a bang. So with all the years of conditioning and training behind him, Steven snuck into the records room in Kiev, and stole the files. He left no trace of his existence and only returned once the files were at his safe house. The base attached to the records building was just like all the other HYDRA bases he had infiltrated and destroyed in the past 7 years, so he had no problem getting in. The guards were killed before they even knew what was coming and Steven disabled the security system, video, and alarm, before moving on. Once the alarms were gone Steven dropped all pretense of stealth and moved in for the kill.

He was like a force of nature as he cut through the wave after wave of goons and grunts that had the stupidity to get in his way. He disassembled their weapons and turned their forces against one another, just as he had done in the War, and when he was finished, he walked over their bloodied corpses towards the labs. The technicians there were of two types, either they were sniveling cowards that cowed away in a corner and were quickly shot without a glance, or they were true fanatics to HYDRA’s cause and crunched down on their cyanide pills without hesitation. Steven didn’t care as long as they were dead and couldn’t hinder him. He took the data he wanted and destroyed their research in a wave of electrical fury. Everything electronic without his protection was fried by the sudden overload, and anything biological was burnt to a crisp as if struck by lightning. The smoldering remains of the room, walls charred by the electrical surge, and furniture melted and mangled beyond recognition, did nothing to fill the gaping maw inside his being. Not even the scorched bodies of the dead scientist, burned to the bone, could ease the growing pain, and he felt nothing, not even a flicker of remorse for their deaths. Steven simply turned and walked out of the room, being sure that every research lab and weapons development lab was sealed up tight. Any fool that hid inside them deserved their fate, because when he was through with Lukin, not a single stone of this base would be left standing or left unbroken.

It was fitting that this base would end in fire, because the cold fires of War had created it and now justice would smite it from the earth.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steven approached the doors to Lukin’s office with a calm menacing air. The lights in the hallway, flickered and cut out as he walked passed, leaving a dark path in his wake, and drawing Steven into a cloak of night. The secretary’s desk was empty and Steven barely gave it a passing glance before he stood before the opulent double doors of the Col.’s office. Steven could barely contain his rage. This man lived in opulence and comfort while, he and his Ada were trapped in cold dark rooms without even the barest hint of human comfort. They were locked away in darkness and in the cold while this snake wearing a kind face lived and walked freely in light and warmth. Steven knew the world was broken, that it was marred and fallen, but this was too much for his grieving heart to take.

Steven suddenly clenched his fist and the door shattered, flying off its hinges and dissolving into ash, and what was left he walked over without a backward glance. His feet crunched on the broken wood and glass as he crossed the lush red carpet to Lukin’s desk. The aging Russian was frozen in his chair in shock as he watched Steven cross the floor. Once Steven finally stepped over the last of the remnants of the doors, he seemed to snap out of his stupor and only then did he react. He pulled open the drawer on his right side and pulled out the gun he had hidden in there. He brought it up, cocked the hammer and fired, only to stare in shock when the bullet froze mere inches before Steven’s head.

                “Stepan,” Lukin purred nervously, “I see you’ve come back to us.”

Steven clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes in barely contained wrath; and the bullet disintegrated into dust. Lukin, who watched this with awe and no small amount of fear, loosened his grip on the gun and it slipped from his hand to fall with a clatter to the desk top. A small satisfied smile pulled at the corners of his lips and the gun fell apart before the Col.’s eyes.

                “Hello, Alexi,” Steven purred, a cold smile on his face and a fell light in his eyes, “it’s nice to see you too.” Steven stopped smiling and lifted his hand. Lukin rose from his chair like a doll on strings and floated over the desk. Steven raised his other hand, pointed at a small uncomfortable work chair, and dragged his hand over to point in front of him. The chair responded in tandem with his movement and rapidly rolled on its wheels to sit in front of him. Lukin was dropped into the chair, unceremoniously, and was quickly bound with the wires from his lamps and other electronics.

                “Stepan,” the Col squeaked, as the bindings tightened around his wrists and ankles, before wrapping around his shoulders to hold him back to the chair. “What is the meaning of this? Untie me!” Steven grinned most menacingly, and walked up to hold Lukin’s chin with his finger curled underneath it.

                “Oh, I don’t think so, Col,” Steven said, his tone saccharin sweet. “Your orders mean nothing to me anymore. You see, I had a telepath friend remove the submissive conditioning. You can’t control me anymore.” Lukin gulped as Steven walked around him like a cat with a cornered prey. He jumped when Steven’s mouth suddenly was by his left ear. “And my name is _Steven,_ ” he snarled. Steven grabbed Lukin’s shoulder and spun the chair around to look at him and his placid smile. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? You took away my name, my freedom, my mind, and didn’t think I would get free and pay you back for all those years that you, and others like you, stole from me? Of course not,” Steven huffed out a hollow laugh, his eyes bleak and broken, “you were Lukin: the head of the Red Room Project, the head of HYDRA.” Lukin’s eyes widened in shock, and Steven laughed. “Oh, yes, I know who you really work for.” Steven pulled out his gun and knives and placed them on the desk nonchalantly, occasionally glancing at Lukin, who was beginning to sweat now. “How do you think your fellow party members would react if they found out that you were a Nazi spy?” Lukin swallowed down the lump in his throat, watching Steven place the knives in meticulous order on the desk before picking up the gun.

                “What do you want,” he asked, bluntly. Steven smiled blandly as he carefully pulled a silencer out of his coat and began to screw it on the barrel of the gun. He took a shuddery breath as he closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek and when he opened his eyes again, Steven was looking at the handle of his gun.

                “Did you send her,” he asked his voice devoid of emotion.

                “Who,” Lukin asked, and Steven turned his cold eyes back on the former col.

                “Yelena,” Steven clarified, “did you send her?” Lukin tightened his jaw and squared his shoulders.

                “And if I did,” he asked. Steven’s glare was as cold and murderous as the Siberian tundra.

                “She’s dead,” Steven told him, “and so is Anya. You knew what Yelena was capable of, and you sent her anyway. You’re responsible for their deaths, for all of them; especially for Anya’s.” Steven pushed off the desk and stood right in front of Lukin, glaring down at him; a fell light burning like a flame in his eyes. “You’re going to confess, Lukin,” he said coolly, “to everything you’ve ever done as head of the Red Room. You’re going to _confess,_ to holding American soldiers prisoners of War. You’re going to _Confess_ to experimenting on prisoners, to torturing them, brainwashing them, and to defiling them. You’re going to _confess, Lukin_ , to the deaths of _every single person_ you ordered me, and Ada to kill!” Steven was calm but inside the darkest part of his mind was pushing at the edges of his vision, but he refused to become that monster again.

                ‘ _I won’t become that monster again,’_ he thought to himself, ‘ _Never again!’_ Lukin chuckled softly, a cold grin pulling across his face as his chuckles turned to laughter. Steven snarled, and gripped the handle of his gun tighter. Lukin stopped laughing when the room began to shake and the windows cracked under the weight of Steven’s anger.

                “You are more of a fool than I could have ever thought,” he said still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’m glad that you were our little assassin. Your powers were more useful in our hands than yours, you would just waste them.” Steven snarled and his face twisted with wrath before he gave into the desire in his heart. He lifted his gun and without hesitation put a bullet in Lukin’s shoulder. Lukin screamed like a stuck pig, and Steven’s face became a carefully controlled mask of stone, immune to the wails of pain.

                “I don’t need them, Lukin,” Steven told him, his face stony and impassive, “I’m going to use the tools you and your lackeys taught me. You’re going to confess, Lukin, and you know why?” he asked and leaned in closely so than Lukin could see his cold eyes and dispassionate face. The howls of pain had fallen on deaf ears, so the old soldier swallowed his pain and glared at Steven impassive face. A small smile pulled on Steven’s lips making him look serene even as he pressed his thumb into the bullet wound on Lukin’s shoulder.  “Because, I was good student, and” Steven said with a satisfied smile when Lukin grunted with pain, “I had a very good teacher. Shall we begin?” Steven pulled away and picked up one of the knives.

                “Fuck you,” Lukin spat with a snarl, and Steven hummed around a laugh.

                “You already did,” Steven said with a bland smirk, examining his knife. “It didn’t work out so well for you.” Steven tipped the knife towards Lukin, showing him the blade. “Persian blades,” he explained. “Did you know, that the Persians made blades so sharp, people say they don’t even feel the initial cut? Shall we test this theory, Lukin,” Steven asked. The threat of a knife did little but to make the Col glare, and Steven placed it across his hands. “I could just force you to confess, Lukin. Use my powers, my telepathy, to make you confess. Or I could dose you with truth serum, either way would work, but I want to make you suffer, Lukin, the way you left me to suffer all those years alone in that little cage. This… is justice!”

                “I won’t talk,” Lukin said as he glared at Steven. Steven sighed, a sad and pensive look on his face.

                “You will. They said that,” he told Lukin, “yet they always do. So, shall we? Here are the rules, Alexi: lie and I put a bullet in one of your ball and socket joints. If I run out of those, the major hinge joints go next, and so on and so forth. Do you understand?” Lukin glared, but there was a minute nod. Steven smiled, “good, then let’s get started.”

~*~*~

* * *

 

Lukin did cave, in the end. It was almost sad. So many others who had gone before, spat their last breath in his face with defiance, but Lukin was old and greedy like many others in power. For five long hours, Steven soaked himself in Lukin’s blood. For five hours, Steven tortured his former master. For five hours, Steven put his soul in a box and locked it away. Steven was patient and precise and he proved to Lukin that he had learned much in his years of captivity. Cruelty, hatred, despair, and cunning were his bedfellows and with them as his strength, he brought Lukin to the edge. Lukin didn’t have the endurance that the others who went under Steven’s knife had, nor did he have the courage. So he caved, and gave Steven what he wanted.

Steven placed the video camera in front of Lukin, on the tripod and started to record. As he did Steven took advantage of a very old system set up from the earliest days of the Cold War: the Emergency Broadcast System. It was relatively easy to crack, and broadcast the transmission of Lukin’s confession to the Western world. Military and government workers in the US scrambled to find out what was going on the minute the regularly broadcast programs were suddenly cut off.

At first the image showed that of a technical difficulties picture, before it cut into the colored bars of the EBS, and a notification. The whole world stopped for a minute as they saw that it wasn’t a test, and waited with baited breath to find out what it was. Afterwards, the signal cut to the image of a haggard looking man in his late forties holding a small stack of papers. Steven had unbound his wrists, and gave him the paper containing his confession. At the bottom of the screen were displayed the words: **_contains graphic imagery; parents are advised to remove their children from the room._** After a moment the man finally spoke, and it was with a thick Russian accent.

                “ _Ladies and gentlemen, people of the Western world: my name is Alexander Lukin. I was a member of the Russian Military, and a Col in the Red Army. Today I am here before you to confess to a great sin I did make against you and your people.”_ The man shook slightly as he dropped the first page and continued on the second. “ _Almost twenty years ago, I was inducted into the Soviet intelligence agency known at the KGB, and twenty years ago I was put in charge of the science research and development sector known as the Red Room._ ” Lukin glanced off camera and as Steven’s glare. Lukin turned back to the notes and swallowed down the lump in his throat. “ _While I was there, I was placed in charge of the Black Widow Project; a project designed to take young orphan girls and turn them into weapons for the Soviet Union and Mother Russia. I sanctioned the capture of American soldiers, and held them in bases in western Siberia. I denied their existence to my superiors, and kept all record of them out of official hands._ ”

Lukin hand’s trembled as he tried to swallow his fear, but Steven had effectively removed his mental defenses, and made sure that he felt every inch of guilt for he had done.

                “ _I sanctioned the action of experimentation on these prisoners, as well as their torture. I was given orders that all prisoners were to be broken, and I did so with enthusiasm. Once they were broken, I gave the order for them to be conditioned and brainwashed into believing that they were patriots of Mother Russia. Our methods were very effective. Only one out of ten Prisoners died before conditioning was complete, and only a tenth of that was not able to be brainwashed.”_ Lukin’s hands shook even more when he dropped to the next page. His eyes widened in shock and looked up at Steven with horror. He shook his head in denial. “ _Net pozhaluysta. YA ne mogu, oni ub'yut menya!_ ” (No, please. I can’t, they’ll kill me!)

                “ _Ty uzhe mertv, Lukin_ ,” (You’re already dead, Lukin) Steven replied in kind, “ _Zakonchi eto!_ ” (Finish it!) Lukin turned back to his notes with shaking hands and tears in his eyes.

                “ _I used two of these prisoners, from before my tenure, to assassinate political targets that were a threat to the Soviets and the Red Room. I take full responsibility for the deaths of these people. The targets were the following:”_ Lukin then list off several prominent assassinations of politicians and social reformers, as well as some that were thought to have been accidental deaths. Finally they come to the last name, and Lukin is crying. The name is Howard and Maria Stark. Lukin keeps shaking his head and saying no in Russian, and Steven doesn’t press. It’s best the Stark’s death remain the way it is.

                “ _I was in charge of the Red Room, and I was the one to call for the deaths of these people,” he said, “the Prisoners, our Assets had no choice, our control was absolute. I confess to these sins and beg your forgiveness_.” Lukin dropped the papers and looked up bleakly at Steven’s looming form.

                “ _Za vashi prestupleniya, Aleksandr Lukin_ ,” (For your crimes, Alexander Lukin), Steven said, “ _i za eti grekhi vashe nakazaniye - smert'_.” (And for these sins, your punishment is death. You confessed, so it will be swift.) Steven cocked the hammer of his Colt 1911 A1 and pointed it at Lukin’s head. “ _Pust' Bog pomiluyet vashu dushu. Lyubyye posledniye slova?_ ” (May God have mercy on your soul. Any last words?) Lukin’s eyes were defiant, but resigned.

                “ _Privetstvuyu HYDRA_ ,” he said. (Hail HYDRA) Steven’s face became flat as flint and his eyes like fire.

                “ _Do svidaniya, Aleksiy_ ,” Steven said and cut off the live feed as he put a bullet in Lukin’s head, (goodbye, Alexi) “I khorosheye izbavleniye.” (And Good riddance.)

Steven took a deep breath and dropped the gun onto the desk. He dropped his face into his hand and began to weep bitter tears of regret and mourning. For a moment there, he wanted nothing more than to put the gun to his own head and end it, but Steven could never do that to his Ada. This monster living inside him was too dangerous to live, but at the same time, Steven couldn’t die. He needed help, and the only way for that to happen was for the Winter Knight to die.

Resolve filled him and he pulled his head out of his hands. He wiped away the tears and cleared his mind. When he opened them he held out his hands much as he did for when he created the doubles for Stark and his wife. He felt the dust in the room answer to his call and slowly from the ground emerged a human form. At first it was rough but the more he concentrated the more refined it became, and soon his own face was staring back at him. Everything was perfect right down to the scars on his back from the whips and the color of his eyes. Steven picked up the gun and spared the clone a mournful glance as he gave it a heartbeat and placed the gun in its hand. The double raised it up to press against its temple, and Steven shut his eyes as it pulled the trigger.

**_BANG!_ **

Steven jerked at the twitch of pain he felt, just as from all the other times his doubles had been killed, and opened his eyes. On the floor lay his clone’s crumpled form, a smile whispering across its lips in peace. Steven let his tears drop and walked out of the room. As he walked, he telekinetically lit a fire around the room and activated the little areas of concentrated flammable liquid with their detonators. He walked out of the building as it burst into flame, destroying everything within and making it look like the Winter Knight had killed himself to end it.

He walked to the end of the city and right up to the door of the bolt hole currently occupied by the CIA agents sent to kill or capture him. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for the agent inside to open it. The agent that opened it was an older one, and most likely this was a type of punishment for him. His gun was drawn but pointed down, and while cautious, he had an air of curiosity and patience.

                “Why are you here,” he asked, and Steven smirked. He knew who he was, ‘ _good this will make things easier_.’ Steven thought

                “You know who I am,” Steven asked, and the agent nodded.

                “You’re the Winter Knight,” he said, and Steven smiled. Carefully and with telegraphed movements, Steven reached up and removed his stealth mat mask. When he pulled it off, he heard the agent inhale sharply in shock. When he opened his eyes again the gun was hanging limply in the agent’s hand and his face was lined with shock. Steven dropped the mask and held out his wrists.

                “My name is Steven Grant Buchanan,” he said, introducing himself properly for the first time in over forty years. “And I surrender myself into your custody.”

                “Well, shit,” the agent said numbly, “those plans are all just shot to hell.” Steven smiled honestly and allowed the agent to manhandle him into the house.

~*~*~

* * *

 

Pardoned: If Steven were not looking at it for himself he would have thought that they were lying to him. But there it was in his hands, staring back at him, printed in black and white: a full Presidential Pardon. Not just for his crimes against the states, but also when he was a rogue agent. Steven felt so grateful that he felt that he would cry. This pardon had a price, though and even if it was a few years he felt that it was more than enough, and a far smaller price than he would have ever thought.

In return for a full pardon, he is to work as a field Agent for the CIA for no less than five years, after a period of no fewer than 2 years of psychic deprogramming to remove any remaining triggers and code phrases. This time would also serve to allow Charles Xavier to undo the damage to his mind and make him whole again. The CIA wanted him to ferret out the last remnants of the KGB and HYDRA from within the Agency and abroad. The first one would be easy the latter not so much. They also felt that his skill would be best put to use rooting out the spies in allied nations as well as remove the threat of their aid to less than friendly ones.

Steven looked up at the agent that would become his handler with watery eyes and a genuine smile.

                “Really,” he asked cautiously, “is this real? Is it… am I truly free?” the agent smiled and nodded.

                “It’s real alright,” Jack Devinson replied, “but it all swings on you getting better, so come on, let’s go.” Steven grinned, stood up from the chair and followed Jack to the car waiting for them at the curb. He climbed in and listened to the peaceful quiet of the car simply driving. Jack didn’t listen to his radio and knew Steven wanted some quiet. He would be spending the next two years of his life at the Xavier institute undergoing therapy and treatment for his damaged mind. The CIA wanted him, but they were patient enough to wait for the heat to die down before turning their new Agent loose on the unsuspecting moles in the allied nations. If a few years were all it took for their prize to recover from the horrors of the KGB and the Red Room, then they were willing to do everything in their power to make him better.

Steven had told him about the blackouts and blank holes in his memory where demons lurked and horrors that he had erased from his mind to ease the pain. Jack knew that the only way for Steven to recover completely was to restore those memories, and he wouldn’t wish that on such a caring young man; despite what his past may be.

After a few hours of silent driving, only interrupted by Steven’s absentminded humming, they arrived at the Institute. It was just as grand and open as he remembered, only this time it was to the sight of children playing tag on the green, and basketball on the snow free courts. Steven smiled as he unbuckled and opened the door. It was cool outside but refreshingly so, and the sight of the pines and manicured shrubs were far from the barren wasteland of Siberia. Steven was so caught up with taking in the sights that he didn’t notice that the children had stopped playing and were now staring at him.

They felt the thrum of power barely concealed by his skin, and they all stared in awe at the face of a long thought dead hero come to life before them. Most were too shy to approach but suddenly a dark-haired blur rushed out of the main doors and bounded down the stairs.

                “Bol’shoy Brat,” the dark-haired boy shouted as he flung himself at the blond. (Big brother) Steven turned just in time to see him and catch the boy in a bruising hug.

                “Mladshiy brat,” Steven cried as he pulled the boy in. (little brother) Steven pressed his face into the boy’s neck and pressed a kiss to his ear. “Moya malen'kaya Yasha,” he whispered to the boy. (My little Yasha) “Let me look at you,” Steven pulled away and surveyed the change that time and growth had wrought to his brother. Yasha was now around the physical age of 8 and looked so much like his Ada it was scary. But Steven could see Fëanor in the color of the boy’s eyes and around his jaw and chin. Yasha had a longer face and his jawline was more elongated like Fëanor’s, and his lips were more like Fëanor’s. The more Yasha aged the more these little things set him and his Ada apart. Steven smiled at the boy and peeked into his mind. He was shocked by how much progress the telepath had made, that he smiled all the more brightly. “You’ve grown so much, Yasha. You look more like Ada every day.” Yasha shrugged and smiled shyly.

                “Papochka says I look like my grandfather,” Yasha said and Steven had to nod.

                “That you do,” he said but then puzzled, “Papochka?” Yasha blushed and looked down at his feet bashfully.

                “Bucky,” Yasha explained, “he told me that my Ada and papa died a long time ago, but that I’m still partly his son.” Steven smiled sadly at the mention of Steve but pulled Yasha back into his arms for another tight hug.

                “Yes, he did,” Steven croaked, “but your Ada is in heaven, with his Nana and Ada. And I’m sure you’ll see him some day.” Yasha pulled away with a smile but there was a look of confusion on it.

                “Why are you here,” he asked. Steven smiled and looked over at the patient Jack Devinson, before he turned back to Yasha with a calm look on his face.

                “I’m here because something’s wrong…. With me,” he said, “something’s broken in my head.” Steven tried to put on a brave smile but Yasha saw through it. He remembered a lot more than what he said he did and he knew what was wrong. He hoped that it wasn’t too late. “Professor Xavier’s gonna make it better; fix it. He’s gonna help _me_ get better.” Yasha, though years older on the inside, did the only thing an 8 year old knew how to do to make his big brother feel better: he wrapped him up in a big hug.

                “It’ll be okay, Steven,” Yasha said, his voice sounding older and more like Bucky’s. So much so that Steven felt his barriers breaking as he pressed his teary face into Yasha’s hair. “He’ll make it better, you’ll see.”

                “I hope so,” Steven murmured, “For all our sakes.”

~*~*~*

* * *

 

TBC….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry that got so dark for a while there. I just had to get into Steven’s dark side before I showed you all just how much it hurt him to do it. Steven’s a real gentle soul and like the elves his spirit is fragile. Right now his spirit is battered and cracked but not broken, but I think that in the process of fixing him he just might get a little more broken along the way.  
> All Bucky stuff in the next chapter and it’s going to be over a very big stretch of time. After that it’s the year 2000, and all its glorious problems.  
> Note to you all that 9/11 will be an integral part of this second half of the story and I am not pulling punches. If you guys were all around back then, I want you to tell me in the reviews where were you on 9/11. Please and thank you.


	15. Bucky Barnes, M.D. and Ph.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: sorry about the dark turn in the last chapter but this next one is a bit lighter. The title says it all, and I hope you guys like my laughable attempt at describing the journey. This one is going to be short so, please forgive me.  
> On to the fic

~~*~*~**

* * *

 

During the years of Steven crusade, Bucky had sought to keep his mind busy and off the ever increasingly violent reports coming from the east. Bucky knew that there was a darkness growing within his son, but had no way to help. The last time he had seen him was when Tony buried his parents, and even then his attitude was cold and distant. So Bucky did the one thing he knew would keep his mind busy: he returned to school. He was glad that Howard had paved the way for his education shortly after Joseph was born, and for the semesters he had taken to keep his mind off the emptiness of his heart, and the silence of his home.

Those early years were hard, with Steven gone and his husband rarely at home, Bucky found refuge in speaking with Maedhros. The two waxed long hours into talks of philosophy and the art of healing and Bucky remembered that faint early desire to become a doctor so that he could heal Steve. Those desires were moot, but the idea of becoming a physician stayed with him for many lonely nights. Finally he turned his mind fully towards his education, and with Howard’s help, his old credits from his College days before the War were put to use. There weren’t many but it got a great deal of his Gen-Ed credits out of the way.

He spent hours studying his books and taking tests, as he worked his way towards a college degree. When Yasha was conceived, he had already finished two years of classes, and he was moving onto the home stretch to getting his degree in medicine. Of course this meant that he had to go to medical school to get his medical license, but what were a few more years. But as he spent more hours in quiet conversation with Yasha before he was born, he recalled his wonder when he saw Stark’s flying car, and the awe he felt when Steven showed him his new arm. He’d asked so many questions about it, that he knew how the device, the neural net, worked. He knew every minutia of the mechanics and electronics, and to be frank, it fascinated him. He had always loved science and technology since he was a boy, and this new world he lived in felt almost like he had stepped into the pages of his favorite science fiction comic. He loved science and new technology, and he wanted to learn more. Even though he had nearly enough credits to finish his pre-med degree, and move onto medical school, he had taken almost just as many electives in robotics engineering, and cybernetics that he could get two more majors and go on to graduate school for robotics.

When he told Tony this, the kid was thrilled, and encouraged him to get that degree, even if he did nothing with it. But the thing was, Bucky did want to do something with it. He wanted to take the very thing HYDRA gave him to destroy lives, and use it to fix them. He wanted to take Steven’s technology and help people like him, soldiers that had come home missing pieces. That came home broken in body, if not in spirit. Bucky felt that he could change this, and so he went to his advisor and told him he planned to take on two more majors. The advisor was skeptical, but seeing as Bucky was only one class short of finishing his Pre-med degree and continuing with medical school, he helped him schedule the classes needed to complete a triple major.

In all honesty he thought that Bucky was being over ambitious, and would drop one before the next year was up, but he didn’t realize that Bucky had the Serum and the mental enhancements that came with it. Bucky blazed through his classes after Yasha was born, showing his young son his class projects whenever he could. Steven would on occasion stop by Bucky’s shop and smile at the wonders Bucky was creating. But when Howard and Maria were “killed” Tony no longer came by and Bucky threw himself into finishing his last few classes.

Graduation felt like a hollow victory without Howard and Maria there with Tony to hoot and holler their joy. And without Steven it felt like he had lost his son, and his friends. Yasha was there, as was Arion and Nelyo, but it felt like there would always be an empty place where his son should be. (Little did he know that Steven had been in the very back of the auditorium watching proudly as his father received his three degrees with Highest Honors.)

Getting his Ph.D. was now the most important thing aside from completing Medical School. He worked himself to the bone to complete his projects and finish his thesis and prototypes. So when his final presentation came, and he unveiled the prototype prosthetic hand and arm, taken from Steven’s own designs, he was called a visionary and a mechanical genius. Some called him the greatest visionary since Howard Stark, but they didn’t know his son like Bucky did; and he knew that Tony could and would blow his designs out of the water if he only stayed away from the booze and women.

Being granted his Ph.D.’s was the proudest day in his life, or it would have been if he hadn’t got that phone call. He had never felt such a cold stab of dread such as in that moment when the phone rang. He knew without even answering it that it was about Steven. Arion answered the phone as he stood frozen stiff in the hallway in his graduation gown and new cap. He worked so hard to get the gold honors braids hanging around his neck, but all that pride and accomplishment turned to ash in his mouth when he saw Arion’s face turn white.

                “What is it,” Bucky asked when Arion finally hung up the phone. Arion looked as if he had been suddenly stabbed in the chest but was in such shock he couldn’t process it. “Arion, what’s happened?”

                “The CIA and SHIELD just put a Kill on sight order on Steven’s head,” he answered numbly. Bucky felt his own face go white and he grappled onto the small side table as his knees suddenly lost their strength.

                “No,” he whispered, numb from disbelief, “they can’t. Steven… he wouldn’t…” But the words stumbled of his tongue incoherently and became like lead in his throat. Bucky placed his hand over his mouth to hold in the sobs that wanted to tumble out. “Stevie,” he whispered, as tears fell down his face. Arion rushed to his side once the shock wore off and his legs were no longer frozen to the floor. Bucky collapsed into his arms and burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably; begging God for his son not to die. For a good hour they sat there together, wrapped in each other’s arms before they finally got up to go to the graduation ceremony. Bucky was a Summa Cume Laude and was chosen to do a small speech, but the words of hope and new beginnings fell like a lie now, and felt like ashes on his tongue. He went through the speech in a daze and only seemed to register where he was after he finished his speech to a rousing standing ovation.

Graduation in the fall semester was hectic but Bucky felt that if he finished in the fall, he should graduate in the fall. It was close to Christmas of 1992 when he registered for his classes at Harvard’s school of Medicine for his final years in Medical school. It was prestigious and also granted him his residency in neural surgery at New York General Hospital. It was closer to home and Bucky could commute to the hospital by train. Entering into his residency as a graduate Ph.D. in Robotic Engineering and Cybernetic integration, and seeking an M.D. as well brought him quite a few curious looks from his fellow residence, but no more so than when he expressed his desire to be a surgeon, and they saw his metal hand.

Most doctors and accomplished surgeons thought he was a joke or charity case and ignored him, but Bucky didn’t become the top of his class by listening to the nay-sayers. He marched into the office of the most prestigious and accomplished surgeon in the hospital and demanded to be allowed to prove himself. That went over about as well as a lead balloon, but the chief of surgery took notice and gave him a single chance to prove his worth. The old man gave him an almost impossible task hoping to discourage him right into general practice, but Bucky stunned the man by not only fixing the shattered spine of a young soldier, but also giving him back his ability to walk. The only other Doctor to have that kind of skill and talent in the country was an up and coming neural surgeon named Dr. Stephen Strange.

The chief of surgery relented and Bucky began his residence toward getting his Medical license and becoming a specialist Neural Surgeon. It was nearly derailed, though, when Bucky answered a call at work from Arion, informing him that Steven had turned himself in to the CIA. Bucky had to beg the Chief of Surgery for a few days off for a family emergency, and since Bucky was his star student and had not taken a day off since he started, he placed him on call and let him go home.

~*~**~*

* * *

 

Bucky’s reunion with his eldest son was strained but still full of joy. When Steven saw him he fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness; weeping onto his Ada’s shoes. Bucky knelt down and pulled Steven into a crushing embrace.

                “There is nothing to forgive, Steven,” he said, and Steven buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky pressed a kiss to Steven’s ear and whispered, “You were ill, sweetheart, but the first step to getting well again is to admit there is a problem and ask for help.” Steven took a shuddery breath and rested in his Ada’s arms, listening to his heart beat and being soothed by it as he once was so long ago.

                “They took Anya, Ada,” Steven whimpered, “they killed her, and I was so angry. I wanted to burn them to the ground, and I didn’t care if I survived. I want the pain to stop, Ada! Please make it go away!” Bucky felt tears of great sorrow for his son run down his face and he pressed a kiss to Steven’s crown.

                “Only you can make it go away, Stevie,” he whispered. “Only you can make it stop. But you have to understand, Steven,” Bucky pulled away to look his son in the eye, “it’s gonna get worse before it gets better. You just have to be brave and endure.” Steven looked so broken and lost as he looked back at his Ada.

                “I don’t know if can,” he admitted softly, and Bucky smiled.

                “Oh, I think you can,” he said and pressed a kiss to Steven’s forehead, “I know you can.” He murmured into Steven’s brow.

~*~*

* * *

 

Steven left a few days later, pardon in hand, to stay at the Xavier institute for the duration of his treatment, and Bucky returned to his Residency at the hospital. By the time Steven was finally cleared by the old telepath as being free of the programming and the split personality that plagued him, Bucky had graduated from Residency and had become the foremost expert in the field of traumatic amputations and Cybernetic prosthetics. He was the pioneer of a new field of neural medicine and Robotics with his patent on the Neural Net; a cybernetic socket and artificial nervous system that mimicked the natural process of the human nervous system, and integrated directly into the central nervous system in the spine. It solved the problem of the weak skin contact sensors that had so much lag that they were almost useless, and created a smooth and seamless transition from the neural activity in the brain to the response in the limb.

Each system was handmade, and customized to the specific needs of the patient, but it was all based on Bucky’s own arm and the intricate network of artificial nerves and receptors, as well as artificial muscles and servos. Bucky made every piece, whether it is a hand or a full arm replacement, to the needs of his patient and created a different kind of shell to work with. Some had the metal skins like his only in darker colors, or flesh tones, and some had custom made carbon fiber shells that were coated with a thin paint of flesh tone latex. At a distance these versions looked real, but once you got closer, you could see the intricate system of plates and mesh that moved over the cybernetics.

After becoming one of the leading surgeons in the field of traumatic amputation, Bucky realized he could expand his patient base to include children who had been forced, by either deformity or medical illness, to amputate a limb. Seeing the joy on their faces when he showed them the limbs that they would wear until they had stopped growing was enough to melt his heart. Fitting a young man with a new leg after losing it to cancer and seeing him walk and run under his own power, gave Bucky such a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. Expanding his development into making legs and feet opened a whole new world of smiles and joy in Bucky’s life.

With the overall system of the arms and legs patented separate from the neural net, Bucky felt that the only thing holding him back from making them for everyone, was the time it took to make them and the cost. But he had a friend in his back pocket that could change that in the future.

Steven was thrilled that his Ada was taking the thing forced on him by HYDRA, and turning it into something good that could change the world for the better. For a long time his Ada didn’t know what to do with his new gifts, but now he was using the very thing HYDRA had created and used to destroy lives to help people, and to heal the wounded and lame.

It was a bright future that awaited them. He was sure of it.

*~*~*

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: yay, end of the 90s. Next stop Y2K! I hope you really liked this half of the story, and I am so sorry for the emotional rollercoaster of the last few chapters. The next chapters are going to kick off the last half with a bag.  
> Again I pose the question: where were you on 9/11?


	16. September, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, character building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: okay this is going to be so hard to write and to read so please, try and bear with me. I hope you all like it and please give me your reviews and kudos, because it just makes my day.  
> This one starts with a huge time jump to 2000, and as I was only around 8 at the time, I really don’t remember it well, but I do remember that day, a year later. I hope you like  
> On to the fic

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Steven entered Jack Devinson’s office and sat down quietly on the chair before his desk. Jack saw the tired look in the agent’s eyes, and put away his paperwork. Steven waited patiently for him to finish before he spoke. When he did it was with a finality that he hadn’t used in years.

                “I’m done,” he said, and Jack startled in his chair, genuinely shocked. “I want out. No more missions, no more trips, no more Winter Knight; I just want a nice quiet desk job from now on.” When Devinson finally recovered he huffed out a long breath, and looked at Steven.

                “Is there a reason for this sudden desire to be a desk jockey,” he asked. Steven looked at his clasped hands in his lap, and Jack saw age on the ageless face of the elf.

                “I’m tired Jack,” he said, and looked up at his boss, “I’ve done all that was asked of me and then some. My baby brother joined the army, as a sniper, and he’ll soon be going on his own missions. Hell, Jack,” Steven said with a bit more life, “I missed his promotion to Sergeant, for God’s sake. I’m done, Jack. I got nothin left.” Devinson calmly observed Steven’s form and cursed himself for not seeing the signs. Many an agent, especially a field agent, could be burned out with too much work and too many assignments, and it seemed that Steven had burned out and no one saw. He had only risen to deputy director in the last year, and had been Steven’s unofficial handler since he first signed on. It seemed that in his year absence, Steven had finally burned out.

                “Are you sure this is what you want,” Devinson finally asked. The blond nodded sagely.

                “I’ve finished my sentence, Jack,” Steven told the new deputy director of the Agency. He sighed with a bone deep exhaustion. When he looked up at the director his eyes were tired. “I just want to live a normal life. I want what I was promised after the War: peace, quiet, and a place to call home. I haven’t had that since I got back. I think I’m entitled to it now.” Jack smiled at Steven and steepled his hands on his desk calmly and coolly, looking at the tired agent before him, then spoke.

                “You think you can handle being just Captain Steven Buchanan, Army Intelligence liaison to the CIA,” he asked with a small smile. Steven sighed in relief and nodded. Jack sighed and then ruefully smiled. “Very well, from now on the Winter Knight is officially retired, and Captain Buchanan has a position as intelligence analyst for the Agency.” Steven’s smile could light up the room, and Jack realized that this decision had been weighing on him for some time for the relief to be that palpable.

                “Thanks, Jack,” Steven said as he stood up and shook the man’s hand. “You have no idea what this means to me,” He grinned and then turned to leave the room. “You won’t regret it.” as he left Jack Devinson sighed and quietly murmured.

                “Let’s hope that you don’t come to regret it, kid,” he mused.

~~*~*~*

* * *

 

Yasha joined the army the moment he was physically old enough. The programming that had created his mind, set within him the need to serve and protect, and he found that he could not just become the average American boy. He needed to do something with himself, and as each year passed he regained more and more of the skills that marked him as the Winter Soldier. He was swift, and strong, he could think faster and clearer under pressure, and his understanding of mathematics as almost as good as Tony Stark’s. The institute gave him a place to hone his abilities and skills, but it lacked the sense of purpose that service had given him. So Yasha joined up. Special dispensation was given in regards of his age, but while he was only 9 years old when he joined up, Yasha was physically an 18-year-old teen fresh out of high school and yearning for adventure.

Bucky was almost horrified the minute he heard that Yasha had joined the army, but Yasha was persuasive. He told Bucky that he wanted this; that he wanted to serve.

                “I want to give this country back what it gave me; a chance to serve and become more than my programming,” Yasha said. “I want to repay the kindness it gave me with service. Is that so bad?” Bucky sullenly huffed a sigh.

                “No,” he said softly.

                “Is it so bad that I want to use the things I was given to make this world a better place,” Yasha asked. Bucky shook his head in resignation. “I remember the War, Papochka. I remember being the Soldier. I remember the sense of pride and honor I felt as a soldier, and even if it is only a memory, I want to feel that again: that pride in myself, the honor. I feel useless otherwise.” Yasha paused and looked at the papers in his hands. “I want to be a soldier. I want to serve _my_ country, not because they tell me to, but because I _want_ to. I want to be the son that my Ada can be proud of.” Bucky looked up at Yasha in shock and sorrow.

                “Oh, Yasha,” he said and pulled his son into a bruising hug. “He would already be proud,” Bucky whispered in Yasha’s ear, “Because _I’m_ proud of you.” Yasha smiled and squeezed Bucky a little tighter before he let go. “You don’t have to do this.”

                “But I want to,” Yasha said with a smile, “I want to be a soldier.” So with a sigh, Bucky relented, and Yasha entered the army’s service.

He joined the Rangers, and became a special forces Sniper, just as he wanted. He shot up through the ranks and by the time he stopped growing and aging at the physical age of twenty one he had become a non-commissioned officer at the rank of Sergeant. He was proud of this accomplishment, but was only grieved that Steven wasn’t there to see it. With this rank, came the responsibility that came with it, and that meant his own unit. Yasha’s record was nearly flawless, with multiple successful missions and a reputation as a fair and commanding NCO. The only thing that kept it from perfection was the black spot on his record: a bar fight that nearly turned lethal when a transferred soldier bullied and picked on Yasha’s new friend Corp. Jacob Cowens. Yasha held his temper for most of the incident until he tried to get the man to leave, when the very drunk soldier threw a mug at Jake and knocked him out of his chair. Yasha saw red, and what was a minor dispute turned into a barroom brawl. Yasha had the experience and training far superior to the other Sergeant, and by the time Yasha’s temper finally cooled he had beaten the soldier to a bloody pulp. Horrified by what he had done, he immediately administered first aid, and called for a medic.

The result was a disciplinary mark on Yasha’s record, time in the Brigg, and a bar from further promotion. Yasha was lucky to have not lost his rank completely, and be given a bad conduct discharge, but because the other patrons confirmed that the other soldier had started the fight and Yasha was only trying to get him to leave before he swung the first punch, Yasha was let off with a severe warning; whereas the other offending soldier was given a dishonorable discharge and sent packing.

Yasha had become very close to Jake, so it was a no brainer that he would protect the younger man from the slurs sent his way. Most thought that Jake was gay because he spent so much time with Yasha, and while the other NCOs wouldn’t dare insult a fellow Sergeant behind his back, especially not a sniper with a record for being the best in the whole US Army, Jacob Cowens was a Corporal from Kansas, and fair game. Whereas they never outright accused him, they targeted him behind his back. Little did they know, Jake was as straight as an arrow, and it was Yasha that had fallen for the shy and bashful blond. Yasha didn’t know if his type was a carry-over from Bucky or something that had developed on its own, but Jake matched Yasha’s type perfectly. He was tall and broad shouldered, with dirty blond locks, and a bright smile. He had bright green/blue eyes and a chiseled face, that looked like it came right out of a Greek statue. His form was athletic and slim, not having the muscle that most expected on a frame as large as his. Yasha dwarfed the blond, in height and muscle, but was always weak in the knees when it came to Jake.

But Yasha wanted more than what he was willing to risk, and felt that friendship with his new partner, and spotter was better than rejection and dismissal. The pair worked great together, and went on small peacekeeping missions across the world. The pair, especially Yasha yearned for some action other than watching the roads and picking off the occasional sniper that dared to get in his sights. Little did they know that their world was about to change: forever.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry this was so short, but the next ones are going to be the days leading up to the big day.


	17. September 10th, 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: the days leading up to 9/11. I am so sorry I have to do this, but Marvel did do a piece for the day, and so am I.  
> I actually came up with some of the sequences of this before I changed the plot a bit, (i.e. a lot) so some of these scenes are set in stone. Please tell me how I’m doing.  
> On to the fic

~~*~**

* * *

 

                “Ada, I’m home,” Steven yelled once he entered the door. He smiled at the hushed but excited voices coming from the kitchen, and as he turned to close the door and hang up his coat, he was assaulted from behind by a massive dog. “HUAN!” the large hound shoved him into the wall and began to nuzzle and lick him. “No, Stop! Stop it!” Steven laughed, as he tried to shove the dog away.

                “Huan,” Nelyo called and gave a sharp whistle. The happy hound let out an excited yip and barked as he vaulted off Steven and towards the tall redhead. “Yes, I know. Now calm down. You’re worse than a puppy, you old hound.” Maedhros chuckled and pat the blond hound on his head. Once his attention was no longer diverted by the wiggling hound Maedhros looked up and saw Steven smiling in the doorway. “Steven,” he said with a surprised smile, “what a pleasant surprise!” Nelyo quickly enveloped the blond in an engulfing hug, which Steven gladly returned.

                “It’s good to be home,” Steven sighed into the Copper haired Noldo’s chest. Nelyo had been a source of refuge in his recovery and his presence was just as calming now as it was then.

                “We weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow,” Maedhros said as he pulled away. Steven smiled and walked into the kitchen for a snack. “When did you get back?” Steven smirked as he walked in on his parents in a cheerfully domestic scene. The pair looked up from their embrace and with twin smiles of joy, quickly pulled their eldest into a hug.

                “How long have you been back,” Arion asked, his eyes raking over Steven’s form for injuries.

                “How’d it go,” Bucky asked when he pulled away. Steven grinned and chuckled at his parent’s protective nature. He could understand where it came from. After all he had only just started taking on missions for the army a few months ago, and each time he left, they fretted and worried, and each time he came home.

                “it was fine,” Steven answered and moved to the icebox to grab a plate of leftovers, Chicken, roast potatoes, and fresh green beans from the garden; one of his favorites. Steven placed the plate in the microwave and began to heat it back up. He turned around with a sigh and small smile. “I got back a few hours ago. Ooh, cookies!” he exclaimed and grabbed a handful of fresh baked cookies, triple chocolate with caramel thumbprints. His Ada must have been stress baking again. Steven ate one in a single bite and sighed around the delight in his mouth as he munched down on it.

                “Steven,” Bucky chastised, and Steven smirked shamelessly. Bucky sighed with a fond smile before he got back to the subject. “How was it, Steven?” Steven sighed and swallowed down his cookie before he answered.

                “’bout what was expected,” he answered, “mostly intel gathering, and chatting it up with locals. There was one thing though,” he said with a puzzled expression.

                “What,” Arion asked as he sat down at the table with a glass of milk. Steven frowned and looked at the cookie in his hand is slight frustration and confusion.

                “There was some mention about a big day coming up,” he said as he mulled it over in his head, “some big event that was going to ‘change the world’ as they put it. Now this matches up with some of the chatter we’ve been hearing over that last few months. But none of it makes any sense.” Steven huffed in frustration, “it’s like we’re missing a big piece of the puzzle. I’d go to the other agencies with what we’ve got but what with HYDRA’s infiltration and all, my boss is reluctant to trust them to give us the part’s we’re missing.” Steven growled and started when his meal dinged in the microwave. He turned around and grabbed the now heated meal out of the microwave and brought it over to the table. He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and a fork and knife out of the drawer before he filled his glass and took it back to the table. “It’s just more than a little frustrating that the agencies don’t trust each other. And while I understand where it’s coming from, we still need to trust if we’re gonna get rid of HYDRA for good.”

Arion and Bucky shared a look and then smiled.

                “Well, Stevie,” Bucky said as Steven tucked into his meal, “it just so happens that we’ve got our own little bit of Intel for you.” Bucky grasped Arion’s hand and smiled sweetly at him with all the love and devotion he felt the day they got married. Steven looked up at them with an open and curious look on his face.

                “Oh,” he said around a mouthful of chicken, “what sort of intel?” Bucky and Arion shared a knowing smile with Nelyo, but didn’t answer.

                “The sort of information that is going to be shared when the whole family is together,” Bucky said with a cheeky smile. Arion gave Bucky a confused look and Steven decided that if it was important enough for them to discuss via Osanwe, he could keep out of it and not eavesdrop.

                (‘ _I thought we were going to tell them today_ ,’) Arion asked through their bond. Bucky just sent his husband a wave of love and patience.

                (‘ _It can wait till the morning_ ,’) Bucky replied, (‘ _besides, I think that Yasha would like to know that he is about to become a big brother; don’t you?_ ’)  Arion smiled, and nodded.

                (‘ _Tomorrow then, after lunch_ ,’) he amended, to which Bucky nodded in agreement.

                “If you two are done having your private conversation,” Steven said as he scraped the last of his meal off his plate, “I have to go.” Bucky furrowed his brow in worry.

                “So soon,” he asked, “I had thought that we would spend the day together as a family.” Steven smiled sadly as he stood up and put his dirty dishes in the sink to be cleaned later.

                “I know,” he answered, “but I have a ton of paperwork to finish, and some fresh Intel to analyze. Not to mention a full debrief with Jack on the mission.” Bucky looked at his son in confusion.

                “I thought it wasn’t a CIA mission,” he asked. Steven chuckled.

                “It’s not,” he explained, “but my boss likes to debrief his best agent after fact checking missions, even if it’s for the Army and not the agency.” He smiled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Gotta go, Ada; Love you.” Bucky smiled sadly and watched his son rush out of the kitchen and out the front door.

                “Love you too, sweetheart,” he sighed.

                “It’ll be fine,” Arion told him, as he placed a comforting hand on Bucky’s arm. “He’s just under a lot of pressure with his work load right now. We’ll tell them tomorrow after lunch.

                “Yasha gets back tonight,” Bucky said, “and then he has six months shore leave, before he heads back out.” He sighed, “I just wish I could spend more time with them.”

~*~**

* * *

 

                “Hey, Steve, come take a look at this, will ya,” one of Steven’s fellow analyst shouted the minute he was in the door.

                “Whaddya got,” he asked. ‘Never a moment’s peace,’ He thought as he dropped his stuff at his desk and came to look at the paper his coworker waved in the air.

                “Some flag by the feds,” the man answered. “A couple of Arabs came to a flight school wanting to learn how to fly a plane.” Steven cocked his brow in confusion.

                “So,” he asked, “a lot of people want to learn how to fly. What’s so special about this?” his coworker turned and leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen as he talked.

                “That’s just it,” he said, “they wanted to learn how to fly a plane. They weren’t interested it takeoff or landing, just piloting it while already in air.” Steven furrowed his brow and finally began to skim through the file his partner handed him.

                “This is weird,” he said as he perused the notes, “the flight instructor said he was put off by their urgency. You think this has something to do with the uptick in chatter, Rick?” Rick shrugged and Steven gave the file one last look before he dropped in on the top of his desk inbox.

                “You wanna take a look at it in the morning,” he asked.

                “Sure,” Steven said absently before he glanced at the calendar on his desk. He hissed and groaned in frustration, “No, wait, I can’t.” Rick looked back at Steven with wide eyes. It wasn’t like the Army Captain to turn down a good investigation.

                “Why,” he asked. Steven sighed and smiled ruefully at his office friend.

                “My brother Yasha is coming home tonight,” he explained. “It’s the first time we’ve seen each other fully since he joined up. With his deployments, and my hectic schedule or erratic missions, we rarely get to hear from each other save for the occasional letter or video tape letter. We’re gonna have breakfast in Manhattan, chat a bit and catch up before lunch with the folks.” Steven huffed and looked at the file on the top of the stack. For some reason when he heard Rick tell him about the piloting lessons he felt a sudden wave of dread, as if a premonition washed over him with some foresight of the future. Something bad was gonna happen and it had to do with those men, he just knew it.

                “Well how’s about after lunch we take a whack at it,” Rick asked, “We could do an interview with the flight instructor. Huh?” Ruck waggled his brows and Steven snorted in laughter. “Come on, I know how much you love playing the Army Captain bit. You love flaunting your investigative skills. It’s like you want to be some investigative lawyer or something. Oh wait,” he gasped in sarcasm, “you are.”

Steven chuckled and threw a wad of paper at Rick’s head.

                “Just because I have a degree in international and military law, and occasionally help the JAG’s out during their investigation,” he argued, “doesn’t mean I am a lawyer.”

                “You passed the New York Bar!” Rick argued. Steven turned and pointed a pencil at him with emphasis.

                “So could anyone,” he rebutted, “you don’t have to have a degree in law to pass the Bar; not in New York.” Rick slumped in dramatic frustration, and Steven snickered at his antics.

                “Not just anyone could pass with your scores,” he pointed out, “with a minor in Fine Art mind you. You could be a lawyer. The JAG gave you the pins; you could do honest work for them.” Steven gave Rick an unimpressed look.

                “I like working here,” Steven explained as he started writing up his report for debrief, “I do good work and the things I find, you, that we find, save lives, Rick. You know why I stay,” Steven said sadly, and Rick’s jolly face became somber. “I got red in my ledger, and I wanna wipe it out.”

                “Okay, Steven,” Rick conceded, quietly, “we still on for after lunch though.” Steven smiled. Nothing could keep Rick down for long; even the knowledge of his past.

                “You got it,” Steven said, “unless you want to meet up before and have a look at it?” Rick shook his head.

                “Naw,” he declined, “I’ve got other cases that take priority than a blip on the fed’s radar. Plus I’ve got a briefing at 0800 at the Pentagon until noon, so wish me luck with that.” Steven smirked and felt that stab of dread again but shook it off. September 11th was turning out to be a bright day indeed.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: Sorry this was so short, but I’ll make up for it. What do you all think about my day before scenario? And before you all ask, yes Rick was at the Pentagon when the plane hit. Sorry. Up to you if he lives or not.  
> The next chapters are going to brutal so please have tissues ready and review with all your memories of that day.


	18. The Twin Towers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a chapter that needs no introduction: September 11th

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is it. Be prepared for a lot of chaos and screaming. Please have tissues ready. I will. I have the name for the next chapter if you would like to hear it: The Towers Have Fallen, or Aftermath. Which do you like best; because I’ve got no creative title for it. Please give me one! I need a good title.  
> For those of you readers, who live in New York, please forgive me for opening old wounds.  
> On to the fic

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The morning of September 11th had dawned bright and clear, not a cloud to be seen, and it seemed to all that nothing could spoil such a beautiful day. Alas, in a few hours, the world would be forever changed, and that day would live on in the memories of every living soul in the city for better or worse. For Steven it was the first time he had seen his little brother in months, and he was looking forward to their morning together. Yasha had come home very late that night and had almost immediately dragged himself to bed. After spending months on cots and bed rolls, Yasha slept like the dead in his own room, too tired to care that the bed seemed too soft, or that the room was too quiet. He woke to the light of dawn streaking into his room from his open curtains and rose to wash and change into his civvies for breakfast.

Steven met him when he came into the kitchen, with a grin and an encompassing hug. Yasha returned the embrace with vigor and sighed into his big brother’s shoulder. The years together at the institute had pulled them closer together than even Bucky could have hoped. The two became like a pair of soldiers that had grown together in the trials of war. And it wasn’t surprising, for Yasha knew more about Steven than he would ever let on, and it was that connection, that bond that made them closer than any brother could be. They weren’t just brothers, they were friends.

                “It’s good to see you again, Yasha,” Steven said with a smile. Yasha sighed in contentment and pulled back.

                “You too,” he said and affectionately patted Steven’s neck. Steven smirked and gave Yasha a playful shove, to which Yasha laughed, and Steven ducked down to grab his backpack, and laptop. It was one that he had made for himself. Sleek and shiny, it was like nothing on the market, with its lighting fast processing and graphics drivers. It had a clear touch screen that could project larger holograms in his office so that he could visually see and put together the connections in his cases. It also had the benefit of having a stylus pen that he used often to draw with. His formerly broken hands still shook from time to time, a product of the conditioning, but he no longer felt that his talents were lost. They may have tried to take them, but Steven was an artist at heart, and with therapy he regained what was thought to be lost.

                “Are you ready,” he asked with a cheerful grin.

                “Born ready,” Yasha replied with enthusiasm. Steven laughed, nocked Yasha’s shoulder as he brushed past playfully and grabbed his motorcycle jacket and helmet off the coat rack in the entry way.

                “Then what are ya waitin’ for,” Steven asked, “let’s get movin’.” With a cocky grin, Steven tossed his keys into the air and caught them before opening the front door.

Yasha shook his head with a good natured smile, chuckling at Steven’s antics, and followed him out to Steven’s bike. The old motorcycle was a beauty, and the very same one that Steven had ridden during the war. It was a classic Harley Davidson Army motorcycle, the same model as Steve’s was: a 1942 WLA. Steven had loved the bike during the war and was surprised that Howard had kept it and Steve’s bike in tiptop shape. Steven’s only change was to upgrade the suspension and make the engine more reliable. It was more or less what he had done in the war to keep the bike as nice as he could. The most noticeable addition was the sidecar that Steven had made just for such occasions.

Yasha loved Steven’s bike, and would often reminisce about the bike he used as the Soldier, so Steven was going to surprise his baby brother on his next birthday with a version all his own. A modern reproduction of the old ’42 that Steven had custom ordered from Harley Davidson. But for today the two were going to take a trip into Manhattan on the bike, and Steven was going to let Yasha drive it back.

Steven tossed Yasha the spare helmet and climbed onto the bike with a grin. Yasha leapt into the sidecar and secured himself with childlike glee, buckling up his helmet just as Steven kick started the bike.

                “Hang on,” Steven shouted, and peeled out of the drive like he was being chased by Nazis. Yasha gripped the bar in front of him in panic, which quickly turned to glee. The young soldier whooped and howled, as the pair tore off down the street. Steven grinned under his helmet and took off for the Brooklyn Bridge. Steven felt a sense of city pride as he passed under the impressive brick towers of the suspension bridge, and drove on towards the city.

                “Where are we going,” Yasha finally asked when they stopped at a traffic light.

                “There’s a café just down the block from central station that has the best bagels in the city. And the coffee is to die for,” Steven grinned, “I thought we could have our breakfast there.”

                “Just bagels,” Yasha asked, and Steven grinned.

                “Well,” he hedged, “they do have some pretty darn good punskees, and other Slavic sweets, if you want that sort of thing.” Yasha grinned excitedly and licked his lips. He may be a New Yorker through and through, but his heart still belonged to the Russian baked goods.

                “Sold,” he crooned, and Steven laughed as he drove through the intersection.

~**~*~

* * *

 

                “You weren’t kidding,” Yasha said around a mouthful of fresh donut. “These are really good!”

                “I know, right,” Steven preened with a grin, and sank his teeth into a fresh bagel. “There’s coffee if you want.” Yasha looked up and motioned a waitress over.

                “What’ll it be, fellas,” She asked.

                “Two cups of coffee,” Steven said and looked at Yasha to confirm.

                “As long as it’s not Army coffee, I’ll take it,” Yasha joked, and Steven snorted in laughter. The waitress smiled and wrote it down. “That stuff is so thick, it’s practically tar!” Steven barked out a laugh, unable to contain his mirth. “Tastes like it too.” He told the waitress with a grin. “If you got anything that’s not bitter, I’ll drink it. Two creams and three sugars,” he added.

                “And for you,” she asked Steven, “anything special?”

                “The same,” Steven said, “but make mine a double.” The waitress smiled and wrote down their order.

                “Okay, that’s two coffees, one with a double shot espresso, cream and sugar, and the other with two creams and triple sugar. That it,” She asked. Steven and Yasha nodded, and she smiled. “Great. I’ll have that out in a minute.” Steven looked up at the sky with a bright smile, but that stab of dread still clung to him, dropping the smile from his face.

                “What’s wrong,” Yasha asked, and Steven smirked wryly and shook his head.

                “It’s nothin’,” Steven answered. He reached down to his bag to grab his computer, and looked up when he heard Yasha groan.

                “Oh, come on, Steven,” Yasha said, “it’s supposed to be our day together. Can’t you leave work alone for five minutes?” Steven nodded his head bashfully, and set his bag back down.

                “I guess so,” he sighed, and worried his lip.

                “What’s eating you,” Yasha asked. Steven frowned and contemplated his answer.

                “It’s nothing,” he said, “or at least it should be. But… my partner handed me some tip we got yesterday, and I was too tired to work on it. It was really weird though, and it’s been buggin’ me all day. I thought I’d work on it later today, but now I wonder if I just shouldn’t go to work early to chase it down.” Steven shook away the thought and smiled, “it’s probably nothing anyway.”

                “If you think it’s nothing then why are you worried about it,” Yasha asked and paused when the waitress set down their drinks. “thanks.” He took a sip and smiled, before he continued, “I’m sure it’s just your perfectionism nagging at you. It’ll wait. Besides, what could happen?” Yasha joked, and Steven gave him a sour look before he took a swallow of his own drink. He sighed in contentment, and was just about to speak when a loud nose broke the quiet. It was like a dull roar that they had heard every day but never so close before.

The two looked up to see a large jet flying low over the city, barely missing the tops of the buildings, and the two shared a worried look.

                “Why’s it flying so low,” Steven mused, and looked over at Yasha, whose face had suddenly turned milk white. “You think it’s having altitude issues?” Yasha didn’t answer and Steven looked up just in time to see the plane strike the side of one of the Twin towers. “Oh my God,” Steven exclaimed in shock.

The pair jumped up from their table so fast that it was knocked over along with their drinks and breakfast. Gasps and screams broke out around them as they gazed at the tower before them. A sudden stillness settled over the pair as they looked at the now burning hole in the tower in horror. They were stunned, and they weren’t the only ones, the whole street suddenly became filled with shocked exclamations and gasps as they were filled with disbelief; unable to comprehend what they just witnessed.

Steven snapped out of his shock first and dove for his bag and his cell phone. He quickly dials the number for his work to call it in.

                “Jack Devinson’s office, how can I help you,” a woman answered.

                “This is Captain Buchanan,” Steven said in a rush his eyes glued to the burning building. “Put me through to the director.”

                “One moment please,” the secretary said calmly. Steven waited impatiently for the call to be put through and continued to watch the tower with mounting dread.

                “Devinson,” the director answered curtly.

                “Jack, its Steven,” the blond said. “Somethin’s happened in Manhattan!”

                “What,” Jack asked.

                “Turn on the News!” Steven ordered as the dread became horror. The director turned on his television and switched it to the local news. The aged man looked at the screen in shock as a live footage showed the burning upper floors of one of the Trade center buildings.

                “Oh my Lord,” he gasped.

                “We saw it,” Steven said, still frozen to the spot. He looked over at Yasha and didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was thinking: Ada. The blond turned milk white as it dawned on him that his Ada would just be heading for his morning shift about now. There was no doubt that he saw it.

Across town, Bucky was standing on the train platform in shock, unable to believe what he had just witnessed, before his training kicked in and he ran to the nearest cab. He ordered the taxi driver to take him to the World Trade Center buildings. The driver seeing his scrubs and white doctor’s coat did as ordered and drove him out across the bridge and into Manhattan.

~*~**

* * *

 

Bucky had only just arrived, when he was immediately put to work helping with the wounded. Bucky did this with military efficiency and calm, while inside his guts were rolling. That tight coil of dread that first appeared when he saw the plane hit, had only gotten worse. He could see dozens of injured or scared people escaping the side of the north tower, but he knew that there were probably thousands more still inside. That coil grew ever tighter, and with sickening realization, Bucky recognized it as the same feeling he had when he heard about the attack at Pearl. It was 9 am, and that tight coil of dread became a scream in the back of his mind: get out! Bucky ignored it, and ran to the command center.

                “Chief,” he shouted over the din of chaotic voices. The Chief of the NYFD looked over and saw Bucky’s white coat and medical smocks.

                “Doc,” he said, “I’m a little busy right now, can it wait?” Bucky shook his head with urgency.

                “No,” he said, “this can’t wait. You have to evacuate the South tower.” The Chief looked up from his radio at Bucky as if he had grown a second head.

                “Are you crazy,” he exclaimed, “I’m havin’ enough trouble evacuating the North one let alone the South tower.” Bucky shook his head in frustration, and gripped his hair.

                “You don’t understand,” he pleaded; “you need to get those people out of that tower!” the chief ignored him and went back to barking orders. Bucky growled and grabbed the Chief’s shirt in his hands. He pulled the man around and got in his face so that he got a really good look at who he was talking to. “Listen here, you pretentious arrogant little punk,” he snarled, “I was savin’ people’s lives when daddy was in diapers! I fought in the War, fought by Captain Rogers, and he trusted my instincts. And right now my instincts at screamin’ at me to get that South tower evacuated. You got that!?” the chief’s eyes became as wide as saucers when he realized it was Bucky Barnes giving him orders, and history said that Bucky had seriously spooky predictive skills. And when he gave advice, you’d better follow it, because it was something that was urgent and you ignored him at your own peril.

                “Yeah,” the Chief breathed, and cleared his throat, “Christiansen, I want you to start evacuating the South tower.” He ordered, and Bucky let out a sigh of relief. The relief was short lived when he heard a deafening roar. The two looked up in abject horror, just in time to see a second jet slam into the south tower.

                “Oh my God,” Bucky breathed in dawning horror.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Steven and Yasha heard a deafening roar of a jet engine and looked up at the sky. With a scream of terror, the two watched helplessly as the plane banked and slammed into the South tower; cutting a hole through one corner. Steven shook in mindless panic as the realization dawned on him, and he stood there in silence, his phone held limply in his hand, as the horror, disbelief and fear raged through his mind.

                “Steven,” Jack called on the other end of the line. “Steven! Can you hear me? What’s going on? Did you see it?” Steven suddenly heard his boss over the roaring in his own ears and the pounding of his heart. With a start he looked down at his phone and brought it back up to his ear.

                “Yeah,” he asked weakly.

                “Steven, what is going on,” Jack asked firmly. Suddenly tears streaked down Steven’s face as the strange puzzle pieces he had been getting over chatter clicked together.

                “It’s an attack, Jack,” Steven said shakily. “We’re under attack!”

                “What,” Jack shouted, and then glanced over at his television. He watched with abject horror as the news station replayed the second plane striking the south tower. “Oh dear God!” Steven shuddered and trembled as his mind pieced together the clues he had gotten with what he now knew.

                “I could have stopped it,” Steven breathed in shame. “Oh God, Jack, it was right on my desk! I could have stopped it! I should,” he paused and looked over at Yasha.

Unlike Steven, whose shock and realization of the tragedy he could have prevented turned to shame and horror, Yasha’s turned to helpless anger. Steven saw within Yasha’s eyes the same fire that had lit Steve’s when he first saw the camps in Germany, and the walking skeletons of men and boys that walked up to greet and thank them with kisses and tears. Yasha was angry at the injustice and the sheer evil of the act, and above all he was furious that someone would have the balls to attack _his_ city. It would not go unpunished, he vowed, but at the moment he didn’t know what to do.

                “Yasha,” Steven said softly, and the brunette turned his head to look at him, tears of helpless rage running down his face. “I think you should report in to your CO, before anything else happens.” Yasha took a deep breath and there was suddenly purpose in his eyes again.

                “Yes,” he said, “I will.” Steven nodded and turned his attention back to his phone.

                “Jack,” Steven said, “all the information is on the top dossier on my inbox. It has everything we need to find out what happened.” And without even getting an answer, Steven ended the call and ran at full speed to the site.

~**~

* * *

 

Bucky’s horror quickly turned to action, as his years of training in the Army and as an emergency room surgeon kicked in. He grabbed the stunned Chief and shook him until he regained his senses again.

                “Chief,” he ordered, using every bit of his Sergeant’s tone, “you need to get your men out of there. Coordinate with the NYPD, evacuate the triage site and get as many people out of that South building as you can!” the Chief gave his a blank look and stuttered before he got his voice again.

                “W… why the south one,” he asked, “the north one was hit first.” Bucky grit his teeth in frustration and for once cursed his enhancements that allowed him to see the structural damage when a trained professional could not.

                “You see that hole,” Bucky said pointing to the news feed on the television, “that plane hit the tower at a cornering angle. That means that there will defiantly be structural damage. The fire is going to heat the internal superstructure and the wind will cool it, making it brittle.” The explanation finally dawned on the Chief and he paled in abject horror.

                “It’s gonna collapse,” he said, and Bucky laughed with relief.

                “Yes,” he confirmed, “it’s not a matter of “if” it’s gonna happen, it’s a matter of “when”. Get your men out of that building, Chief.” Bucky pleaded and thankfully it was not in vain. The Chief immediately got on his radio and told his men to evacuate the South tower.

                “I want you to gather up as many people as you got, but I need you out of that building ASAP!” the Chief shouted into his radio. Bucky sighed in relief and turned his head to the heavens in a silent prayer. Once he finished Bucky steeled his nerves and rushed head first into the nearest of the towers to help the people evacuate.

~~*~~*

* * *

 

Bucky ushered people out of the building and told them to get as far away as they could. Those that couldn’t walk or were injured were helped on to stretchers and carried off the site. Steven is just seven blocks away, and his panic is rising. He has been dodging civilians and cars just to get this close; he doesn’t dare run at his full Super Soldier speed for fear of colliding with one of the already frightened and injured pedestrians.  Soon he is in view of the tower with a clear line of sight. Steven looks around, seeing bodies and abandoned cars in the street, but no people. With not a soul in sight save for the relief workers and public servicemen, Steven leaped over an abandoned car, and gunned it; turning on his full speed in order to get to his Ada as fast as he could.

Bucky is the first one to know when the building is about to give up the ghost. His sensitive hearing picked up the minute creaks and groans of metal fatigue. He looked up and then back at the building. There were more people inside, but they were out of time. Suddenly Bucky felt a shudder go through the door frame he was holding open, and his eyes widened in horror. He didn’t have to look up to know that the building was about to collapse.

                “ _Everybody out, **NOW**_!” he shouted, and waved his arm franticly at the last of the firemen he saw in the lobby. The pair wobbled as the whole building finally shook in its death-throws, and abandoned their post. Bucky didn’t dare stay to hold the door open, so he turned and with his metal arm, he ripped the door off its hinges; leaving an opening for the two to escape through. Bucky didn’t turn back to see if they were still behind him, when he bolted for the street. In the distance, Bucky saw Steven running towards him. “ ** _Everybody out of the street, get under cover, NOW_**!” he screamed over the sudden and deafening roar of metal and concrete crumbling. A dark cloud descended upon the frightened throng, as they screamed and ran from the dust and debris that began to fall. Bucky looked up for the briefest moment and was almost frozen in shock as the once mighty tower began to turn in on itself and collapse. A scream broke him out of his daze as he turned and ran.

                “ _ADA_ ,” Steven screamed at the top of his voice, and froze in horror as the tower began to collapse.

Bucky bolted for his son, and without even stopping, he grabbed him by the arm with his left hand and dragged him into the nearest building out of the way of the blast zone. With a mighty shove he opened the door and threw his son inside. Not even daring to wait to see if he was hurt, Bucky dove inside and slammed the door shut behind him. It was an older bank, with a set of heavy double doors, so Bucky leaned his whole weight onto the frame, hoping it would hold. Gathering his eldest son into his arms, he pulled him close as the earth began to shake. Steven screamed in horror and fear as he clutched himself tightly to his Ada’s chest. In that sudden moment, he was a little boy again, in that forest in Germany during that ambush so long ago. He screamed and cried as the world shook around them, and as he clung to his Ada like a frightened little boy. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steven and squeezed his eyes shut, tears of terror he had thought he would never know again streaking down his face and into Steven’s dusty hair. The sky became dark with dust and fire, as the world trembled around them, and Bucky hid his face in Steven’s hair. He clung to his son just as much as Steven clung to him and he prayed, for the first time in years he prayed. Tears streaked down his dusty face through his clenched lids, and he prayed for salvation, or for protection; he didn’t know which. He simply prayed.

                “oh God, please,” he prayed, “oh God, please!” he prayed for the door to hold, for the building to stay standing around them; for his son who lay trembling in his arms, clinging to him in abject fear. And above all, he prayed for those that he knew didn’t make it out, for their protection and for their souls. The building gave a mighty shudder, and Steven screamed into Bucky’s coat. Bucky squeezed Steven just a little bit tighter and prayed for it all to end.

                “Ada,” Steven sobbed, when the shuddering stopped. Bucky looked up with shock mingled with relief, when he saw that the building was still in one piece around them. He turned and looked over his shoulder into the street and his jaw dropped at what he saw: there was no street, just grey and brown dust and smoke. He looked around them and he knew that the door was not air tight, but there was not a speck of dust in the room with them. He looked down at Steven and, to his awe and wonder, his son was lit with a pale golden glow. The glow wrapped around them and surrounded the room they were in, filling up the space so that there was no room for dust to enter. The wonder grew into marvel when he realized that the glow was in the form of two gigantic wings spread out in transparent protection around them. They were so pale and transparent that Bucky was not even sure he was seeing them, but they twitched and shuddered with every one of Steven’s sobs and trembles. Bucky pulled Steven close and held him for a moment, thankful beyond words that they were alive.

For a long while they just sat there, crying and holding each other tight, and then it happened again. It began with a rumble, and the building gave a slight shudder. Then suddenly the world went black. The ground shook and the building again trembled as the dust cloud darkened into smoke. Steven screamed and clung even tighter to Bucky’s form and Bucky with terror in his wide eyes and in his heart, clung back just as tight. The building shook and there was an almighty roar, as ruble and debris fell into the street. Bucky forced himself to keep his eyes open as he clung to Steven’s shaking form. He knew what had happened, as he prayed for guidance.

The North Tower fell.

*~~~*

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: and that’s the end of that part. I am so sorry to put you all through this, but to do nothing would be to say that it never happened or it didn’t exist. Well it did, and even Marvel did a bit on it. This is a moment for Steven where he feels as if he just failed in his duty to protect his country and his family. And for Bucky, it’s like reliving the horror of Pearl Harbor all over again. For Yasha it solidifies his desire to protect and serve the country that took him in, and it brings out all the traits that Steve Rogers was based off: pride of country, desire to serve, and the righteous fury he felt towards bullies. In this moment, Yasha has truly become Steve’s son.  
> Thank you all for reading this, and please if you can, I ask: where were you on 9/11?


	19. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the towers have fallen; time to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is self-explanatory, and totally needed, because a big historical event happened and there is always an aftermath. This is Bucky’s and Steven’s, because this was their moment.   
> Fun fact: before I made it that Steven was born in the war, an earlier, as in first draft, of this was where Steven has just turned twelve and was actually a twelve year old physically. He had been born on September 10 1989. Yasha didn’t exist, neither did Joseph. Bucky hadn’t escaped, but got away just in time to give birth to Steven in a church just after a mission in New York. Bucky was there and comforted Steven like this. This was also were Steven got his powers originally. The trauma of the event triggered his powers to manifest and boom, powerful Steven like he is now, only a little kid. Fun! (Sarcasm) I’m so glad I went with this version.   
> My story: Okay so I was 9 when it happened, and I didn’t find out until my sisters and I got out of school. When we were dropped off at my mom’s work, she told us. It was the scariest day of my life. I didn’t understand why someone would do something like that. I think that day might have broken my innocence to the world. Yes I knew there was evil, like Hitler and the Nazi’s but I didn’t realize that people could be as hateful and evil as to do something like that. I didn’t know that evil like that still existed.  
> That’s my story what’s yours?   
> On to the fic

~~***~~~*~*~

* * *

 

When the dust finally began to settle, Bucky and Steven first heard the deafening silence, and then the wail of sirens. The pair stumbled out of the building after a fireman saw them huddled in the door. He knocked on the door-frame and startled the pair out of their stupor. Bucky untangled his arms from around Steven’s frame but his son just clung ever tighter to Bucky’s chest. So with care and gentle maneuvering, Bucky hauled them both to their feet.

                “You two alright,” the fireman asked, and Bucky numbly nodded. He opened the door and walked into the light, with his arms still holding his eldest son upright. The fireman grasped Bucky’s shoulder and gave him a cursory examination, looking into his eyes, checking for wounds, before he moved on to Steven. The blond was still shaking and in shock when the fireman brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You gonna be alright?” Steven looked up at him and weakly nodded. The Fireman gave them a tired smile and moved on.

The pair walked further into the street and emerged into a battle zone. Stone and twisted rebar litter the ground, as do burning pages of paper, and concrete dust. There are shards of glass littering the ground and everything, from the buildings, to the cars in the streets, to the people themselves, is covered in a fine layer of ash and dust. Black men and women are turned ash white and covered from head to toe in the powder, and the only reason Bucky could tell they were black at all was because of the smudges on their cheeks from the tears running down them. The sounds of sirens are like a soundtrack out of a long forgotten movie, one Bucky has never been able to forget; or wanted to hear ever again. All around there are fires burning and Bucky could just make out the shouts of fireman over the din of wailing sirens and horns. Bucky turned toward the Trade Center and was stunned to silence by the sight before him. All that was left of the two mighty towers was a gigantic mound of rubble. It looked like something he had seen during the War; broken sections of walls had collapsed intact and others had been reduced to mere piles of pulverized concrete. Twisted sections of rebar jutted out of chunks of concrete in a visceral parody of broken ribs, and I-beams lay twisted around it like a cage right out of Hell. Bucky stared at the pile in shock. What had once been the gleaming jewel of this city, jutting up to the skies like twin swords was reduced in a matter of minutes to no more than twisted rebar and a tangle of broken and bent I-beams encapsulated by chunks of broken concrete and glass.

And through it all, the sun shone through the dust and debris, shining onto the Fireman and Police officers quickly moving to comb through the rubble for survivors. They shone like angels covered in the dust of war, ceaselessly working to rescue the living or dead. Bucky felt anger like nothing he had felt before, well up in his breast, but it soon died into sorrow at the realization that there were now hundreds, if not thousands dead. Tears welled up in crystalline blue eyes as the enormity of the situation finally set in, and Bucky shuddered with helpless tears before the mound of death before him. He silently shook with sobs as tears flowed freely again, before a shout from the pile caught his attention.

                “I got a live one here,” a fireman yelled, and in a snap Bucky was no longer a fellow New Yorker numb from the shock of this travesty, but a doctor; whose duties outweighed his own grief. So Bucky took a deep shuddering breath, and did what he had done for years in the War: he locked his emotions, his soul away in a box, and did his duty,

Bucky rushed to the pile of twisted metal and debris, and climbed on nimble feet over the precarious piles of bricks and metal. He reached the Fireman who was calling for help, and bent down to help him pull chunks of concrete and metal off a young woman.

                “It’s gonna be alright, sweetheart,” he said, his thick Brooklyn accent coming out, “we gotcha.” The poor woman was crying and whimpering, but looked at them like they were angels. (Little did she know Bucky really was an angel; or rather his current Vessel.)

Bucky heaved a massive chunk off the hole and saw the fireman deflate at the sight of the iron I-beam pinning the woman down. The brunette doctor gave the woman a comforting pat on her shoulder before he moved. Bucky gripped the beam with both hands and braced himself on the most stable part of the pile.

“When I lift this up, you get her outa there. Okay?” Bucky ordered. The fireman nodded and waved over some more police and Fireman to help. “On three,” he ordered, and the fireman reached down to grab hold of the woman’s shoulders. “One… two… THREE!” Bucky heaved with all his might, and slowly pulled the beam, inch by inch off her form. Bucky’s legs quaked, his muscles trembled, and the servos in his arm whirred and clicked as they recalibrated for more strength, as he pushed his enhanced body to the limit. Other Fireman and Policeman grabbed hold of the beam and added their strength to his own, and soon the beam had been lifted enough to pull the woman out of the hole. Once she was free, Bucky dropped the beam with a clang. The group looked up as the pile gave a shudder and shifter further down under their feet. Bucky collapsed onto the beam and gasped with exertion, before he composed himself and began to coordinate a triage center.

                “Alright,” he ordered to the EMTs and fire rescue, “I want nurses on priority cases. Fire and rescue you bring ‘em right here. I need EMTs to gather as many stretchers as you can find, if you don’t got enough, make some.” Bucky pointed over at a nurse and motioned her forward, “I need somethin’ to write with. You gotta marker or eyeliner or somethin’?” the nurse dug through her pockets and came up with a single tube of mat red lipstick. “It’ll have to do. If any of you nurses or women have lipstick, bring ‘em here.” Firewomen and EMTs started pulling out tubes of lipstick or markers out of their pockets or purses, and brought them over to the impromptu triage station. Once piled up in front of him Bucky excluded any that were too light or skin toned, sticking to the vibrant reds, and even a blue. “Okay, grab a stick. Ladies this is triage, which means that serious cases get priority. I want you to mark every person that is brought over to us on his or her forehead, like this,” he said and bent down over the woman he helped rescue. With the red lipstick Bucky placed a big red “s” on the wounded woman’s forehead. “S for serious but Stable, C for critical and in need of immediate medical attention, and M for mortally wounded or dead; ya got me?” Bucky asked as he turned around to his triage nurses. The group of men and woman nodded, and Bucky stood up. “Okay, let’s get to work.” and with that the group disbursed to help with the rescue and recovery.

Bucky coordinated with the rest of the emergency workers, and relief and for a brief moment he felt like he was at Pearl, helping with the wounded and the dead after and during the attack. Bucky sighed and pushed that out of his mind. He needed to focus now, and he couldn’t have a flashback; these people needed him.

~*~*

* * *

 

Hours later, Bucky has finally gotten a chance to rest, and process the enormity of what has just happened. Somewhere in those long hours, after moving to a more secure sight and away from the burning rubble, someone, a policeman or just a regular Joe, Bucky couldn’t remember, broke the news that the pentagon was attacked as well. Bucky had paled and swallowed back his fear before turning back to the task of treating his patients.  But now, with the sky darkened and the only light coming from flashlights or lanterns, Bucky had the chance to process. Four planes had been taken and all four had crashed; three at their targets and one in a field in Pennsylvania. Bucky’s white lab coat had been lost in the chaos, and his once clean blue scrubs were now splotched with blood and dirt. His hand was raw from all the scrubbing and sanitizing he had done to keep it clean and his metal hand had blood clinging in between the groves of the plating. He gave up cleaning it and put on two layers of sterile rubber gloves to stay clean.

So when he collapsed on the steps just outside the outdoor triage, it was no surprise he looked like a complete mess. Bucky put his hands between his knees and sighed. The sigh turned into a shudder and the shudder a sob. Bucky quickly put his face in his hands to try to regain composure, but once he released control, he found it hard to wrangle back. For several minutes Bucky sat there with his hands laced behind his neck, his head between his knees as he tried to stop himself from falling apart. A cry broke him out of his grief and he looked up to see a familiar form running up to him. It was Arion, his suit a mess and his shoulder length hair only braided out of his face at the temples and the top. This was the most elvish he had ever seen his husband in years, and the graceful look was shattered by the distraught look on his beloved’s face.

Bucky stood up and, in two long strides; he was enveloped into Arion’s arms. Arion used his taller stature to wrap his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and tucked his chin over Bucky’s head. Bucky buried his face in Arion’s chest and wrapped his arms tightly around the Vanya’s middle. The minute his face was hidden from view, Bucky shuddered and began to sob. Ugly visceral wails were buried in his lover’s chest, as he fell apart in Arion’s strong embrace. Bucky’s strength finally failed him and his knees buckled under his form. Arion slid down to the ground with him, and rocked Bucky in his arms as they sat on the cold concrete steps.

Steven found them like this not much later, tears in his own eyes as he tried to remain strong before his colleagues. Arion looked up and saw Steven staring mournfully at his parents, before Arion reached out his arm and invited him in. Steven crumpled into the embrace and was soon enveloped in the arms of both his parents. Bucky pulled his son closer and kissed his brow. He had seen too much today and he was ever so thankful that he still had his son. He didn’t even know when he started or who even started, but soon they began to pray.

                “Oh lord,” Bucky said with a shuddering breath, “please protect all who are still living today. Please keep our men and women safe as they search. Please comfort the families of those that have died. We ask only for comfort and strength to last the night.” Bucky shuddered and buried his face in Arion’s chest.

                “Why,” Steven asked, “why? Why them, why today?” he prayed, “why couldn’t I stop it?” he sobbed and kept praying, “please don’t let this be my fault. That I could have done something and didn’t, please let it not be that! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Arion shred silent tears, and softly began to sing.

                ‘ _Where have the eagles gone/ where are the white gulls crying/ they are silent in mourning/ they weep for the loved ones lost,’_ Arion sang. Some nurses heard him and felt tears fall at his mournful voice, and he continued. ‘ _Oh Eru, our Lord/ Our maker, our God/ please usher this souls/ to your house un-trod/ speed on their spirits/ past the great Gate/ and guide them home /to peace and rest; For you are king of the souls of Man/ you’ve taken them in/ you gave them your hand/ you loved them forever and strong/ so now take them home forever!’_

Tears streamed down the faces of the nurses and workers, and even the patients cried at the mournful sweet music and lament of an Elf. Somewhere in the crowd a voice rag out and began to sing a new song. One long remembered, and used: Just as I am. And the crowd took it up and sang tears flowing, voices breaking, but to the ears of an Archangel sleeping in the mind of an old Soldier, it was the most beautiful choir on all the earth. When that song was finished they took up Amazing Grace, and even the doctors still working on patients would hum and sing; their eyes misty.

And in front of this throng, Bucky and Arion held their eldest child, as he begged and pleaded forgiveness that wasn’t need. Yasha found them still holding each other, tears long since dried out, but sorrow still fresh in their hearts. Bucky looked up from his husband’s chest and saw Yasha standing before them in his combat uniform, bag in hand and cap on straight and square. A lance of fear shot through him and he looked at his son’s haggard face and knew: Yasha was leaving.

                “I’ve been put on alert,” Yasha said softly. He sat down his bag and sat on the stone steps beside his family. His face was sad but also calm and Bucky didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he looked so much like Steve in that moment, or that that he was so proud of it. Yasha looked at his callused hands and sighed. “They canceled leave, and my whole unit has to report in in a little under an hour. I think… I think they might be shipping us out soon.” Bucky lunged out of Arion’s arms and pulled Yasha into a fierce embrace.

                “I’m pregnant,” Bucky said a watery smile on his face. Steven and Yasha look at him in shock. Yasha pulled back with a bittersweet smile, and laughed.

                “Really,” Steven asked, and looked between his parents. Arion nodded and smiled.

                “That’s what we were gonna tell you today,” Bucky said with a bittersweet chuckle. Steven tucked himself back into Bucky’s chest and tried to let his pain go, but it was hard with the knowledge he knew.

                “We had warning,” Steven said suddenly, “we didn’t do anything. I feel like this is somehow my fault.” Steven sobbed, and Bucky squeezed him tight. “I had it right on my desk yesterday, and if I’d just taken the time to actually look at it, maybe…” Arion shook his head.

                “There was nothing anyone could have done, Steven,” he said, “not you alone. It’s not your fault.” Arion sighed and dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. “We had the same breakdown with my agency too, Steven.”

                “It was bad communication all around, Steven,” Bucky said, “the agencies could have talked to each other, but didn’t. We just have to learn from this mistake, and grow better from it.”

~*~*~*~

* * *

 

Yasha deployed the next morning; six months in Iraq. It was with frayed nerves and many tears that Bucky watched his currently youngest son march away to war.

                “Good luck,” he told him, after he pressed a kiss to Yasha’s forehead. “Be safe!”

The day was grim and dreary and was made even more so when the phone rang with even more bad news. Bucky dropped his glass when he heard and numbly thanked the man on the other line before he hung up.

                “Ada,” Steven called and skidded into the living room. Bucky sat crumpled up on the couch, his face in his hands as he cried. “Ada, what happened?” Bucky set his hands down and looked at his son with the most miserable look of grief he had ever seen.

                “Gabe died, Stevie,” he said. Steven dropped onto the couch in shock, stunned and confused. Gabriel Jones may have been old but he was a strong man. Steven honestly expected Jim to die first.

                “How,” he asked once he found his voice again. Bucky sobbed and wrapped his arms around his middle.

                “His heart gave out,” Bucky told him, tears running down his face, “he had a massive heart attack, yesterday morning. This grandson thinks that the shock of seeing… it… happen was too much for him.” Bucky snuffed his nose and swallowed past the lump in his throat. Steven sat in shock, too numb for it to really register.

                “We’re all that’s left,” Steven whispered. Bucky looked up and the realization dawned on him as well.

                “We’re all that’s left of our old Unit,” Bucky breathed. “You, me, Morita; we’re all that’s left.” Steven looked old and so very sad for a moment before he leaned into Bucky’s chest and began to sob again, grief hitting him in a double punch. The Howling Commandoes were almost gone. There was almost no one left that remembered Steve Rogers, Captain of the Howling Commandoes and the dearest of friends. Peggy was slowly losing her mind, and Howard couldn’t look for him anymore; so when she died, there would be no one but Steven and Bucky to bring Steve Rogers home. And for some reason, that hurt even more.

~~**~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: again: I am so sorry for putting you all through that, but it had to be done. Please tell me how I did. I think I did this chapter even better than the last. The event feels numb to me now, but the aftermath still makes me cry.  
> Gabe is very hard to deal with. I know he died at some point, but didn’t know when, so I thought, if he had a massive heart attack because of the shock, it would be one of the better ways of handling it.  
> Read and review: and drop kudos if you will, or a fave.


	20. Jonathan Ecthelion Buchanan Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new member enters the family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: thanks for all the patience and heartache. Now onto more lighthearted stuff, and happy days ahead  
> On to the fic

~~*~*

* * *

 

                “Happy birthday!” the crowd shouted, as Bucky entered the room. Bucky gasped and smiled. All his friends were present, those that were living at least, and it filled his heart with warmth to see them all again. Morita had brought his family, and the widows and surviving kin of the other Commandoes had come as well. After all it wasn’t just any day that you turned 85 years old, and was pregnant with your 4th child. Bucky pulled Jim into a bruising hug and pressed a soft kiss to the white hair of the old Asian American.

                “Thanks, Jim,” Bucky said, “I know you had a hand in this.” Morita pulled away with a genuine smile, and shot a pointed look at Bucky’s burgeoning middle. Bucky grinned and rubbed a gentle hand over his aching side.

                “You look like you’re gonna pop any minute,” Jim said. Bucky laughed and sent a loving smile over at his husband.

                “Well,” Bucky said, “at least this one is showing. You remember I didn’t show at all with Stevie. I’m just glad it’s healthy.”

A warm smile spread over his face as he watched Steven talk to Yasha and Nelyo in idle chat, as he remembered the day Steven was born. He had no big belly then, like his previous pregnancies, and the only clue that he had that he might be pregnant was the occasional rolling in his gut that he mistook for gas more often than not. When Steven came out, Bucky’s seemingly healthy thickened middle became overly thin and there was no denying that something very large had grown in his belly and was suddenly gone. His clothes bagged on him for weeks until he regained some muscle and fat. He was still thin, but he looked healthier.

The baby he was carrying now most definitely took it’s time to show itself. Bucky hadn’t begun showing until the end of the sixth month, at least halfway through the pregnancy. Even now, he OB said he was rather small in comparison to his previous pregnancies with Joseph and Yasha; whose size was comparable with Steven’s at birth and had made themselves known very early. Bucky’s belly was taut with a careful mound stretching across his pelvis and from the bottom of his ribcage to his pubic bone. It was a smooth and gentle dome that was unnoticeable if Bucky was leaning over and in baggy clothes or scrubs; but here as he was with the tunic Arion had made for him, there was a very noticeable bump.

                “When are you due,” Jim asked as he led Bucky over to the couch. The brunette carefully lowered himself down with a grunt and a contented sigh, leaning back to take some pressure off his bladder.

                “Don’t know,” Bucky said honestly. Arion reached out a hand from around the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder. Bucky pulled the blond lower to wrap his arm around Bucky’s form and press a kiss to the elf’s cheek. “Any day, I guess. Oh don’t be like that, Jim.” Bucky laughed at Morita’s frightened expression. “Half elven pregnancies are very difficult to gauge. Technically, I could deliver any time from the ninth up to the twelfth month.” Arion laughed and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple.

                “James is technically at ten months now,” Arion said with a smile, “und by most Edain standards is overdue!” Arion laughed. “It will be fine. There have been plenty of half elven babies born that we can handle one more.” Arion pressed one last kiss to Bucky’s head and pulled away to get Bucky a piece of pizza. It was mostly plain with nothing spicy, which bothered Bucky to no end, but with pregnancy came all the joys and misery, such as heartburn; meaning spicy was out until the baby was born.

                “Oh,” Bucky gasped, with surprise, and pressed a hand to his belly. Morita looked at the belly with fright, as if it was a ticking bomb.

                “What is it,” he asked, and Bucky grinned.

                “It’s moving,” he said rubbing his side and wincing as the baby moved in its cramped surroundings. Bucky gasped again and pressed his hand tighter to his side. “It’s turning.” The wide joyous grin turned to his old friend, and a question rose in his mind, “Do you wanna feel?” Morita nodded with awe, and Bucky grinned even brighter.

                “Yeah,” Morita said and reached out a gnarled hand to press to the top of the mound.

                “No,” Bucky laughed and guided the hand lower and to the side, “here. Do ya feel that?” Morita waited a moment and then felt the distinct shape of a foot pressing against his hand. Morita grinned like an old fool.

                “Yeah,” he answered, “was that a foot?” Bucky nodded and closed his eyes; sighing contentedly. “Wow! That’s amazing!” Bucky hummed in agreement and rubbed the side of his belly. The baby continued to move under Bucky’s skin, and soon Morita was feeling the shape of a hand against his own. “A hand,” Jim said excitedly. Bucky opened his eyes with a smile, and Morita could see the maternal glow on his skin.

                “It turned over,” Bucky said and his eyes grew distant for a moment before a loving smile pulled wide across his lips. “ _He_ turned over!” Bucky gasped with revelation. “It’s a boy!” the prophetic light faded from Bucky’s eyes and a watery grin pulled across his face. “A son,” he whispered with joyous tears running down his cheeks. “Jonny.” Arion turned back and saw the fey light in his husband’s eyes beginning to fade, and the wide smile on his face. Worry lodged itself in his throat, as he realized that James had had a prophetic vision about their child. For mothers to be, among the Eldar, this only happened once: right before they were about to give birth.

Arion brought over the pizza and sat down beside his love. He pressed a tender hand to Bucky’s belly with a smile, and then leaned over to press an ear to the mound. The baby’s heartbeat was steady and strong, but he could hear a change from that morning. Arion brought his head up and looked at Bucky’s smiling face.

                “Did it turn,” Arion asked, and Bucky rewarded him with a brilliant smile.

                “ _He_ did,” Bucky responded and Arion’s eyes widened and his brows climbed his forehead at the specific use of gender.

                “He,” Arion asked; wonder in his heart, “a boy?” Bucky nodded with glistening eyes, and a blinding grin. Arion gasped with awe and love, and pressed a joyous kiss to Bucky’s lip; nearly forgetting his worry, until Bucky broke away with a sharp hiss.

                “Ow,” Bucky hissed. Arion sat up and looked worriedly at Bucky’s belly.

                “What is it,” he asked in concern, “what’s wrong?” Bucky’s face screwed up as his belly tightened around his middle, then sighed when it released.

                “It’s nothing,” Bucky answered, “just a cramp.” Arion shot his beloved a pointed look and pressed his hand protectively to Bucky’s belly. “Arion, relax! I’ve been having cramps on and off for the past two days.” Arion’s looked became even more pointed, and the brunette sighed in defeat. “Alright, it might _, might_ , be early labor; we don’t know yet. Until I start having contractions in earnest, there is nothing to be worried about.” Bucky smiled tenderly, and brought his hand up to tangle with Arion’s. “Besides, he’s healthy; he’s strong, the doctor said he’s nice and big; there is no reason for him not to come just yet. And it’ll be hours before I get to the point where we need to be worried.” Bucky smiled and press a kiss to Arion’s frowning lips. The frown melted away and Arion leaned into the kiss, before he pulled back and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

                “I know,” Arion murmured, “I’m just worried about how it will be on you. Your last birth wasn’t exactly easy, you know.” Arion glanced up at Bucky’s smiling face. Bucky’s smile was content and warm, as he looked down at the subtle mound of his belly. He rubbed the fecund curve and sighed when he felt the baby squirm a little.

                “This time will be different,” Bucky said softly. He sighed and sat up to lean over and grab his dinner. The birthday boy dug into his meal with gusto, and devoured the slices that Arion had put on his plate before he gave his Husband a pleading look. Arion chuckled and sat up to get Bucky more. “Thanks, doll,” Bucky drawled as he handed him the plate. Arion pressed another kiss to his beloved’s lips and chuckled as he walked over to the party table to grab another plate full.

~~*~**~

* * *

 

By the time they dragged Bucky’s chair over to the table for him to blow out the blatantly obvious “85” shaped candles on his birthday cake, Bucky had already had three more contractions, combined with the uncomfortable sensation of the baby dropping into his pelvis when he finally stood up again, (hence the chair and the reason for him to not stand up from it.) Bucky smiled and blew out the candles after the embarrassment of listening to Happy Birthday from his friends. He was cutting up the cake, when a sharp pain lanced through his side like a hot poker, leaving him gasping for breath and holding a hand to his side.

                “James,” Arion asked as he knelt down. Bucky’s face was pinched and pained, and he was clenching onto the arm of the chair so tightly with his metal hand that Steven and Arion could hear the wood groan in protest. Bucky’s eyes screwed shut, and his lips pulled back in a pained grimace. “Are you alright?” Bucky let out a low and pained grunt, before his body unclenched and he relaxed. He sighed in relief and looked up at the group. They were all staring at him in concern, but Bucky gave them one of his disarming smiles, and they all unwound in relief. Most of them at least did, but Morita did not. The old Asian set a wrinkled hand on Bucky’s shoulder, in solidarity; understanding just what was about to happen. After all, he had seen it happen twice before: Bucky was going to give birth, soon. Once the older man moved to enjoy the rest of the evening, Bucky pulled Arion close and pressed his lips to his ear.

                “Tonight,” he said, and Arion didn’t need context he knew what Bucky meant. The baby was going to be born tonight. Arion pulled back and stood up with a smile. The blond pulled Maedhros away from his conversation with his half brother and father, and moved out to the entry way for privacy.

                “James is in labor,” Arion said once they were away from the party. Maedhros’ eyes widened and he nodded in understanding. “Could you get the room ready for us, Nelyo? It would mean so much to me.” Maedhros held up his hand and silenced the Vanya with a smile.

                “I’d be glad to help,” Maedhros said, and then asked earnestly, “what do you need me to do?” Arion sagged in relief before he composed himself.

                “There’s a kit all set up and ready in the upstairs office,” Arion said, “bring it to the master bedroom. There is also a birthing chair in the nursery; if you could bring it as well it might help if the baby is going to be stubborn.” Maedhros nodded.

                “Right,” he confirmed naming off the required items; “OB kit in the office upstairs, and the birthing chair in the nursery; anything else?” Arion thought for a moment before he glanced back at his husband smiling and enjoying a very small corner of his birthday cake.

                “Bring Hot water to wash the babe in,” he added, “and the swaddling blanket from the cradle. And if you could,” Arion asked with quiet fear in his eyes, “bring the ultrasound machine Steven’s been working on from James’ workshop in the basement. I just need to hear its heart once more. I need to know he’s okay.” Maedhros’ own lavender gray eyes softened, and he nodded. “Thank you.”

Maedhros quickly and calmly retrieved the needed items and brought them to the master bedroom. Inside the kit was all the things needed to safely bring their baby into the world. It was a standard OB kit from a Paramedic kit, and contained a blanket and gloves, as well as clamps and a pair of surgical scissors. It also contained a plastic bed sheet to cover the bed with. Bucky had added this to the kit when they made the decision that they would deliver the baby at home. Maedhros quickly stripped down the bed and put the plastic sheet on it, placing the non-fitted sheet on the floor by the bed. Maedhros carefully left the room and went down stairs. He could hear the party winding down, and slipped down into the basement door, located under the stairs.

The Basement was remodeled into a work lab for Bucky’s prosthetics as well as Steven’s electronic tinkering. It was large and spacious, with a tall ceiling and whitewashed walls. The floor was tiled like a hospital, and had a drain. In one separate part of the lab was an emergency clinic that Bucky had created for Mutants on the run on living on the streets. There was the traditional hospital exam table, and a bed. The exam table doubled as an emergency delivery bed with stirrups and everything. Maedhros was not very happy to say that he had witnessed Bucky deliver more than one baby in this basement to young Mutants too scared to go to the hospital.

Maedhros shook himself out of his musing and grabbed the portable ultrasound machine Steven made. The redhead quickly rushed up the stairs and crept around the entry room and back to the second floor. The machine was set up on the side table, with the thin screen and device barely taking up any room at all. Maedhros walked into the nursery and spotted the birthing chair right away. It was old and wooden, and carved with intricate designs. The only thing new about it was the Vibranium reinforced metal arms, so that Bucky’s enhanced grip wouldn’t splinter the wood to pieces in his hands. Maedhros smiled at the sight and was drawn back to when he had needed such a chair himself, once, before he shook himself out of his reverie and picked up the chair. It was lighter than it looked, but still very solid in his hold, as he moved it to rest on the plastic sheet laid out on the floor.

The red haired Noldo stepped back into the nursery and picked up the soft swaddling blanket from the cradle. Maedhros brought the soft wool and silk blanket to his nose and breathed deep the scent of the cloth. His own swaddling blanket was now lost to him, through time and by the Straight Road, but he could keenly remember wrapping his own little ones in the same soft cloth, crafted from only the finest wool, silk, and cotton; spun so soft and fine that the blanket looked like felt but was far smoother and softer. Arion had woven this cloth with his own two hands with love and care, and had embroidered the cloth with delicate patterns and designs. Steven had received a blanket much larger than this for his birthday present this year and Steven had bit his lip to keep from crying.

After a moment of reminiscing Maedhros brought the blanket and placed it folded on the nightstand by the bed. Done with his task, the redhead crept back downstairs just in time to see the guests say their final goodbyes.

                “You call me in the morning, Serge,” Morita said, a knowing look in his eyes as he shook Bucky’s hand once more.

                “I will,” Bucky promised with a smile. Morita pulled Bucky into another hug and left. Bucky’s easy smile quickly slid off his face once the last guest had exited the home and the door was firmly shut behind them. A grimace pulled his lips as Bucky bent over with a grunt. “Ugh, I hope this one doesn’t take so much time as Yasha did.” Arion quickly rushed to support Bucky’s form, and pulled his metal arm over his shoulders. The brunette leaned into the hold as Arion slowly but surely helped his laboring lover up the stairs.

                “It’ll be alright, meleth,” Arion said as they reached the landing, and Bucky began to pant with the effort. The former soldier turned to wrap his arms around Arion’s shoulders and widen his stance. Fëanor stood in quiet solidarity by his sons and placed a comforting hand on his eldest’s shoulder.

                “Bucky is strong,” he said, and Adrian came up to wrap a comforting arm around Steven’s form. “He’s had three healthy sons and little to no complications during delivery,” Fëanor paused and his eyebrow raised in contemplation and musing, “One must wonder if he was made for this. Anyway,” he shook his head and looked at his son, “he’s in good hands. He trusts you, and so do I.” Fëanor patted Maedhros’ arm and went back to the living room to wait out the long delivery. Joshua, his oldest friend and ageless companion, followed him and took a seat to his left. Adrian soon took the spot to the right, and the trio sat and waited for the long coming event to begin.

Maedhros took a bracing breath and went back upstairs. Steven followed behind, and the pair entered the bedroom just as Bucky was lying down. Bucky had stripped of all clothes but a night robe, and opened the top for access to his rounded belly. Maedhros quickly attached the fetal heart sensors to the skin of the mound, and turned on the ultrasound. Steven crawled onto the bed and sat up by his Ada’s head, while Maedhros silently squeezed the jelly on the mound, and pressed the transducer into it. He spread the jelly around with the wand, before he settled on a spot. After a moment of pressing and shifting the wand, the blessed sound of a fast and strong heart filtered through the speakers on the machine. Maedhros’ shoulders loosened as he carefully examined the baby. He sighed with relief a moment later and turned the moveable screen on its armature so that Bucky could see.

                “It’s turned into a birthing position,” Maedhros confirmed, and then smiled, “and as you can see… it’s a boy.” Arion gasped with a choked laugh and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s metal hand. Arion knelt by Bucky’s head on the floor by the bed, and was in a perfect position for Bucky to see at all times. But he could not see the screen from his point of view.

                “Told ya,” Bucky preened with a smug smile. Arion returned the smile, but it fell when a thought came to his mind. “What is it?”

                “Yasha,” he said sadly. “I wish he was here.” Bucky smiled sadly and pulled Arion down for a kiss.

                “They extended his tour,” Bucky said, “it happens. We’ll send him pictures.” Steven snickered and lay down to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Nelyo grabbed a wicker chair and placed it behind Arion. The blond elf prince stood up and moved so that he could sit in the chair and watch Bucky while having a view of the ultrasound screen. “He’ll be back before we know it.” Bucky said and slowly drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~

* * *

 

Bucky labored on through the afternoon, and well into the night. He paced and groaned and leaned on everything and anyone he could. By the time his waters broke, it was past midnight. The sun was slowly creeping up, and the horizon began to light when Bucky finally had the urge to push. By that time he was exhausted and aching, and barely had the strength to sit up on the bed, let alone push. Arion sat behind him, holding him up, holding his hand, as Bucky tried to rally his strength to no avail.

                “I can’t,” he cried, after another round of fruitless pushing. He sagged in Arion’s hold and closed his eyes. “I can’t push anymore.” his voice was like a whisper, soft and fading; like his strength.

                “You can,” Arion said, gripping Bucky’s hand even tighter, “please, James, push.” He begged, and Bucky again tried to bare down with a contraction, to no success.

                “I’ve nothin left,” Bucky gasped, and tears ran down his face. Steven shared a look with Maedhros and they both knew that the bed was not productive. Each time Bucky had given birth he was elevated, either in a chair or gripping someone and squatting down to open his pelvis. Arion looked up at his son, and Steven nodded.

                “Come on, Ada,” Steven said and leaned over to grasp Bucky’s arm, “up; time to try something new.” Bucky looked dizzily up at his son and nodded. Arion helped Bucky shift until he was sitting on the bed, his legs dangling over the side. When they tried to get him to stand, and as Bucky’s legs took his weight, a powerful contraction gripped his form, and Bucky doubled over. The sound he made was akin to a choked gasp, as he found himself in an ideal position, and he felt the baby’s head shift down to set in his pelvis.

Bucky suddenly deepened the squat with a scream was the unbearable urge to push over took him and he bore down.

                “Oh, **_GOD_** ,” he screamed as he pushed. But quickly enough the scream turned into a productive grunt, as his body finally responded as it should and the baby moved down with his push. Steven took his hand and held him up, letting Bucky squeeze it for all it’s worth, at least not before surreptitiously turning off the torque control on the arm, leaving it with a weak grip. Arion held on valiantly to the other side, supporting Bucky as he deepened the push.

                “That’s it, James,” Arion cheered, a joyous grin on his face, “ ** _PUSH!_** ” Bucky stopped and breathed for a moment, resting before he dove back in again. Maedhros situated himself on the floor, kneeling between Bucky’s spread legs, a receiving blanket draped across his knees. He gently probed the bulging opening as Bucky’s push finally produced a small sliver of a head peeking through the opening. The redhead smiled as with a mighty heave, the head finally began to crown. He pressed his finger around the gaping opening and cupped the fragile dome of the baby’s head.

                “You’re doing just beautifully, Bucky,” he said, and Bucky let out a grunt as he bore down again, the sliver turning into a crown. “Gentle pushes now, Bucky; we don’t want you to tear.” Bucky pushed in short busts, squeezing his eyes shut and bearing his teeth with the effort not to keep pushing. Maedhros eased the emerging head out of the opening with each push, and with each push more and more of the head appeared. Once the ears popped free, the baby’s head suddenly dropped out of the opening. Bucky screamed with shock, at the suddenness of the head being birthed and a gush of fluid and thin blood escaped from around the baby’s head and neck.

                “James,” Arion said with a wide grin, “the head’s out.” Bucky smiled through his exhaustion and let his head hang back as he rested.

                “I can feel that,” he quipped, and Steven laughed happily at his left side.

                “Bucky,” Maedhros said softly as he felt around the neck for the cord, “do you want to feel?” Bucky looked down with wonder and smiled, nodding. Arion carefully moved so that he supported Bucky, and guided his hand down to cup the soft dome of their child’s head. Bucky smiled with awe and fresh tears streamed down his face, as he gently stroked the tangled locks of dark hair. Arion looked down and with wonder he saw his baby’s face turned into Bucky’s thigh.

                “Oh, James,” he gasped, and looked up at Bucky, “he has your nose; and your hair!” Bucky chuckled and laughed through blurry tears. After a moment though, he felt his body slowly tighten and a contraction built up within again, and he reluctantly pulled his hand away and gripped Arion’s hand again. He checked his grip, and when the contraction peaked, Bucky pushed with all the strength he had. Arion and Steven, shocked by Bucky’s sudden rally found their hands squished in his crushing grip.

                “That’s it, Bucky,” Maedhros cheered as he cradled the baby’s neck, “Push! That’s it; almost there.” Maedhros carefully turned the baby as he moved, and with a sudden gush of fluid the baby slipped free. “He’s out!”  Bucky gasped and began to laugh with joy as the baby made known his displeasure of being so rudely ripped from the confines of the womb by taking a deep breath and letting loose an ear splitting wail. Maedhros laughed and grinned joyously as he brought the baby up for all to see. “What a nice set of lungs he has!” Arion and Bucky laughed and began to cry, and Steven smiled so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he had trouble seeing through his tears. Maedhros placed the child in the blanket and without ceremony set him on Bucky’s still heaving chest. Bucky’s arms came up instinctively to cradle the newborn to his breast, and suddenly found his whole world narrowing down again to the squalling infant in his arms.

                “Arion, he’s perfect,” Bucky said through his tears. Bucky reached up a hand to wipe away the gunk on the baby’s face and soon found his thumb trapped by the strong grip of his baby boy. Bucky laughed, and smiled even wider. “He’s got a good grip. Strong too,” he said stroking his fingers up and down the soft cheek of his new baby. Maedhros carefully tied off the umbilical and cut the last connection between them, before he knelt back and admired the sight before him. Bucky let out a soft hiss and then grunt as his face twisted up with effort. The afterbirth was expelled with another gush of fluid and blood, and Bucky didn’t seem to care. Maedhros gathered up the mess and threw it into a medical waste bin, snapping off his bloody gloves as he finished. Nelyo looked over at Bucky and was drawn to the bloody mess between the brunette’s thighs, but other than that Bucky looked fine. His face was flush with color, and his body was slightly pale but not deathly so, and he didn’t seem to even notice his pain.

                “Steven,” Maedhros said, “help me get him onto the bed.” Steven nodded and turned to loop his arms under Bucky’s, and Maedhros took his knees. Arion stood up and crawled onto the bed, to lie down beside Bucky as the pair laid him down.

Bucky never took his eyes off his new son, and smiled with all the love and warmth he felt in his heart. For the first time in years he felt that same unconditional love that he felt for Steven on the day he was born well up from within. Arion basked in the glow of his beloved’s love, and radiated his own down at their newborn. Once Steven pulled away and laid Bucky back, his Ada looked up and Steven found himself lost in the love and devotion that Bucky sent his way. Tears ran down the blonde’s cheeks, before Steven sat down and curled his arm around his parents in a hug.

                “Stevie,” Bucky said, “say hello to your baby brother: Jonathan.” Steven looked down at the red and wrinkly baby covered in gunk and saw his father’s eyes, and Ada’s nose on the baby’s face.

                “He looks like you, Dad,” Steven said and Arion looked up at his eldest with stunned happiness.

                “Yes,” Arion agreed and rested his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder, “und he has your Ada’s hair.” Steven laughed and rested his cheek on Bucky’s head. Maedhros left the family alone for a moment while he cleaned up, and dampened a cloth to wipe away the gunk of birth from the baby. Maedhros gently lifted the baby out of Bucky’s arms, shushing the little one as he did so, and placed him on the scale. With his brows arched up to his hairline, Maedhros looked back at Bucky with stunned respect.

                “Ten pounds, two ounces,” he announced to stunned parents. Maedhros shook off his surprise and measured the baby. “Twenty-two inches, wow! You are a big baby!” Maedhros gathered the squalling infant back into his arms and proceeded to clean the blood and gunk from his little form. After a diaper was placed on him, and he was wrapped in the soft and warm swaddling blanket, only then did the red haired Noldo place him back in his Ada’s arms.

                “Steven was bigger,” Bucky said, with a proud smile, wrapping his arms around the little bundle. “Jonny weighs more, but Stevie was longer.” Maedhros smiled at the family and looked over to the door at the sound of insistent scratching and a whine. Nelyo shook his head fondly and opened the door letting the gigantic hound trot in and lay his head across Steven’s thighs. Bucky smiled at the dog and looked up to see Fëanor, Joshua and Adrian lingering in the door. Arion waved them in and held a finger to his lips, as he turned back to gaze fondly down at his son.

The trio surrounded the family and shared a collective “aw”, when little Jonathan opened his mouth wide with a yawn, and smacked his lips. Bucky pulled aside his night robe, which was now ruined and did little to protect his modesty, and brought the baby up to his breast. Jonathan nuzzled around before he found Bucky’s nipple and latched on. Bucky gasped in shock before a contented sigh hummed out of his mouth, as the pressure in his breast finally released.

                “What’s his name,” Adrian asked, and Bucky smiled.

                “Jonathan,” Bucky answered, before looking back down at his newborn son, “Jonathan Ecthelion Buchanan Barnes.” Joshua chuckled, and grinned.

                “Born March the 11th, 2002 at 8:05 Am,” Maedhros announced as he rolled up the plastic sheet and moved the birthing chair into the corner.

                “His name is bigger than he is,” Joshua chuckled.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Jonny was just like his big brother with one exception; his growth was slower. It was nowhere near as slow as Yasha’s but it was still slower than Steven’s had been. Bucky despaired a little when he discovered it, but he was resigned to the fact that his children would grow up too fast. He spent his every moment that he had to spare with his young son, watching him grow and mature. Jonny developed powers like Steven’s only later in his physical development than Steven did. He had the same powers but lacked Steven’s Electrokinesis and when pushed to show his best Jonathan’s powers were nowhere near as powerful as Steven’s had been even before the Serum.

As a result Jonathan was finally gauged and classed as a Mutant. This class and series system was created in the Army right before the outbreak of World War 2, and separated each class into ten series levels, starting at as low as Class 1 Series 1 to the most powerful ever theorized: Class 5 Series 10. Jonathan was labeled a Class 5 Series 4; not as strong as Steven was before HYDRA got their hands on him, and nowhere near as powerful as he was now. Before the Serum, when he was inducted into the Army and took the officer’s Oath, Steven was Classed and Series-ed, and the resulting Classification was a Class 5 Series 5; which before then was purely theoretical, and a Series 10 was labeled as purely there for esthetical reasons. When Steven was classed as a Class 5 Series 5 in the 40s, he was the first ever recorded Class five, and the most powerful Mutant ever recorded. Others were nowhere near his level and it was a point of pride for young Mutants in the 70s that the most Powerful Mutant ever was Captain America’s Lieutenant in the army and sidekick in the comics.

Professor Xavier told Bucky that it was purely genetics that made both his children so powerful, but it also sparked a thought that Bucky could be a Mutant with undeveloped powers. It was well known that when Mutants had children, those children were more powerful than the parents and had more developed abilities. And as much as Bucky wanted to explore that idea, and develop his latent telepathy and precognitive powers, his safety and the safety of his family came first. That meant that HYDRA could not find him, and he had to stay hidden. And while this disappointed him, Jonathan didn’t. Jonny’s powers were phenomenal and the professor loved having telepathic conversations with the boy.

Jonny, though he had much of Steven’s powers, was more of a telepath and enjoyed the thrill of hunting down information with his mind and through computers; A thing that got him onto SHIELD’s radar. Jonathan was thrilled to be offered a job at SHIELD, even if it was only an internship, but Steven was not so thrilled. He ranted and raved at his little brother, trying to protect him from the dangerous parasite that grew within the honest agency. His fight was quickly lost when Jonny told him that the CIA had already recruited him and that he had sent the application to SHIELD for internship to be a Mole in the shady organization. Jonathan had covered his tracks very well, and SHIELD had not seen that the very bright and energetic intern they had hired was a cunning and ruthless double agent working for the CIA to uncover HYDRA within SHIELD.

Steven should have known better, really. After all, he was his little brother, who grew up on Steven and Bucky’s knee hearing about the adventures of Captain America and the Howling Commandoes. Jonathan was handsome and brilliant, and was not afraid to blow the wind out of his fellow interns’ sails if they got too cocky and smug. In many ways as he grew, he began to look less and less like Bucky and more like Arion. He shared with Steven the characteristic Vanyar blue eyes with their father, and Bucky’s dimpled chin, but whereas Steven looked almost to be a carbon copy of his Ada, Jonathan was the perfect blend between Arion and Bucky. He had Bucky’s thick dark locks and charming smile, the same flirty eyes, and strong jaw, but his cheeks and lips and nose and brow where all Arion. Even the length of his face was more like Arion’s than Bucky’s. When put side by side, people always could tell that they were related but it always shocked them that the two were full brothers, and thought that Yasha and Steven were the full siblings. It made him the perfect cover, because no one would believe that Jonathan Buchanan was a CIA Mole, and their eyes and ears in SHIELD.

After the internship ended, SHIELD offered Jonathan a full time position in the agency as an intelligence analyst, and Jonny gladly took it. After all who would think that a spy would willingly stay when they could just take what they had and go. But Jonathan, he was after the big game: he wanted the head of HYDRA. And Steven and Jonathan both subscribed to the adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

~**~*~*~*

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry this took so long. I had other things to do, but don’t worry I’ll keep up with this. I think that I might finish the other side stories in this universe, before I move on to the next installment.  
> Coming up: Natasha returns!


	21. Natasha Romanoff Agent of SHIELD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: okay to clarify there is a lot of spy stuff in this chapter, so get ready for spook central, also a family moment with the Barnes’ to lighten the mood; because I’m nice like that.  
> Onto the fic

~**~*

* * *

 

Things were quiet for a few years after Jonny was born until he joined SHIELD and got his level seven clearance. Then Jonathan came to Steven with the biggest news that he had ever had in years: Natalia had joined SHIELD. The news was so shocking that Steven’s mouth dropped open. He collapsed onto the living room couch and sat there stunned while Jonny waited for his big brother to regain his senses.

                “Natalia,” Steven asked, completely dumbfounded, and looked up at his brother, “Natalia Alianovna Romanova… has joined SHIELD?” he looked in askance at his little brother, who nodded.

                “Yeah,” Jonny confirmed, and then looked up with a wince, “actually she goes by Natasha now.” Jonny paused and continued, “Natasha Romanoff: the Black Widow.” Steven blinked and huffed out a breath as he digested the information. After a moment a crooked grin stole across his face, one so alike to his Ada’s that he looked like his blond twin in that moment.

                “Natasha Romanoff,” Steven mused with a grin. He shook his head ruefully and smiled. “I heard that she’d… gone freelance for a few years, then nothing after 06. What happened,” he asked looking up at his brother with a pleased smile. Jonny fiddled with the drink in his hand before he knocked the whole thing back and sat down beside his brother.

                “She made a name for herself, as a freelance assassin,” Jonny answered looking grim at the memory of the file he saw while snooping. “Steven, she used her training on everything and anyone, and for anyone who would pay.” Steven’s smile dimmed but the light look of understanding never left his eyes. Jonny continued, “She must have gotten tired, or sloppy, ‘cause she got on SHIELD’s radar in a really bad light.” Jonny paused as he fiddled with the glass in his hands between his knees, then he sighed and looked over at Steven’s calm face, “SHIELD sent one of their agent’s to kill her; an agent by the name of Clint Barton.” Steven snorted and grinned.

                “Hawkeye,” Steven amended, with a happy smile. Jonny looked confused and nodded.

                “Yeah,” he confirmed, then asked with confusion, “how’d you know?” Steven grinned and his eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed at a fond memory.

                “I met him while I was doing work for the Agency,” Steven told him, “back before I stopped doing field work, before you were born. He was a stubborn arrogant, cocky mercenary when I first met him. He always boasted that he never missed; Carried around a bow and quiver of arrows instead of a gun.” Steven scratched behind his ear sheepishly and continued, “I actually offered him a job. He turned me down. It wasn’t until he finally got caught a few years later that I heard what happened to him. The Army got their hands on him, that’s how I found out he went clean for a while. Then after his discharge he dropped of my radar for about a year… then he started doing contract kills as a freelance assassin.” Steven smirked and chuckled softly. “I met up with him again outside of somewhere in Ukraine. Gave him the same speech, and he turned me down again.” Steven laughed, and sucked on his teeth, “I later learned that he already took a job with SHIELD by the time I gave him the offer. He’s a good kid.” He smiled fondly then looked up in askance. “So what happened?” Jonny cleared his throat and shook the disbelief out of his head and continued.

                “He caught up with her, and was about to take the shot,” Jonny said and then shrugged, “then, I don’t know. He didn’t take the shot. He made a different call.” Jonny smirked bemusedly, “he recruited her. It took a few years for them to dig the crap out of her head but she seems fine now. I met her once,” Jonny commented and Steven raised his eyebrow.

                “And lived,” Steven joked. Jonathan snorted out a laugh and punched Steven, good naturedly. “Seriously, though; how was she?” Jonny bobbled his head.

                “Good,” he said, “she was well put together mentally, and she seemed to be taking to her new role fairly well.” Steven smiled softly.

                “I’m glad,” Steven sighed and looked heavenward. “If anyone in there had deserved a second chance it was her.”

                “Who,” Bucky asked as he walked into the room. The two brothers looked up at their Ada in surprise.

                “Ada,” Jonny said with a bright smile. Steven just smiled softly as he watched Jonny stand up and hug their Ada. When he pulled away, Bucky looked at his eldest with an expectant look and an indulgent smile.

                “You gonna give your Ada a hug, or not,” he asked and Steven grinned. He stood and embraced Bucky, breathing in that unique sent that he had associated with his Ada, before he pulled away.

                “Missed you, Ada,” Steven murmured softly into Bucky’s ear. Bucky smiled happily and caressed Steven’s cheek, his smile softening into a slight quirk to the lips full of tenderness and love.

                “I missed you too, Steven,” Bucky said, as he let his hand drop away, “now who were you talking about?” Steven smirked and looked at his brother, who gave his assent.

                “Natalia,” Steven said and Bucky eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

                “Natalia, as in… Romanova,” Bucky asked dumbfounded, and Steven nodded. “Wow.”

                “She joined SHIELD,” Steven said, “that’s why I couldn’t find her. She seems to have… cleaned up her act and gone straight.” Bucky smiled softly at the memory of the sweet little redhead that he bought ice cream for so many years ago.

                “I’m glad,” he said after a moment of contemplation, “she deserves some happiness.” Steven grinned and opened his mouth to speak when his cellphone rang. He looked at his Ada apologetically before he pulled the sleek phone out of his pocket.

                “Buchanan,” Steven said as he answered. As he listened to the other end of the phone, Bucky saw Steven’s open and carefree expression shutter off and become more closed and cold. “Okay,” he said finally, “no, don’t worry about it, Chris. I’ll deal with it.” Steven pulled the phone way and ended the call.

                “What was that about,” Bucky asked in concern. Steven’s face twisted into an expression of frustration and disgust before he forced himself to calm down.

                “One of our analysts just picked up some chatter on the black market,” Steven said and that look of indignant anger returned. “A next generation QuinJet just went up for auction.” Steven looked at his brother’s shocked face and clarified, “a SHIELD next generation QuinJet to be precise. It’s being held in a facility in Europe.” Jonny looked a little sick at the thought of such an advanced jet getting into the hands of Al-Qaida or even the Russians, and swallowed.

                “What are you gonna do,” he asked. Steven smirked like the cocky confident soldier he used to be before he answered.

                “I’m gonna steal it,” he said, his smirk never wavering and his eyes gaining a sparkle of glee. “The Agency has been begging me to have a go at reverse engineering my QuinJet and this gives them a chance without them getting anywhere near my baby.” Bucky snorted in laughter and tried to restrain the smile on his face and was failing miserably.

                “Go get ‘em, tiger,” Bucky said and Steven pulled Bucky into a hug with a beaming smile before he marched out to the entry way, grabbed his coat and cover from the rack, and left.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

Steven had barely gotten the jet out of the hands of a Russian arms dealer, when his father called him. Steven sighed and put the plane on auto-pilot before taking the call.

                ‘No rest for the wicked,’ Steven thought mournfully, and winced at the large and painful bruise on his side from where he had been kicked in the ribs. It was a hard fight, no one had died and he made off with the prize, so he considered it a win. His father, on the other hand, might not when he saw the bruises and scrapes that marred his face.

                “Yeah, dad,” Steven answered and slumped back in his chair.

                “Steven,” Arion’s voice wavered, and suddenly Steven was sitting upright, bruises and aches quickly forgotten.

                “Dad, what’s wrong,” Steven asked, his voice quavered as worry shot through him. “Is it Ada? Did something happen?” Arion didn’t answer for a moment, but his heavy sigh told Steven more than words could, “Dad?”

                “I have a problem,” Arion finally said, and Steven sagged in his chair with relief.

                “What kind of problem,” Steven asked. Arion sighed and Steven head a slight thump on the other end of the line, like a head dropping back onto a wall.

                “The kind of problem that I can’t prove,” Arion said. Steven mulled over this for a moment.

                “Are you on a secure line,” Steven asked, and Arion sighed.

                “Ja,” he answered and Steven eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Arion rarely ever spoke German, and only reverted when he was stressed or very worried. Steven reached over the console and pressed a button.

                “Talk,” Steven said when the light began to blink, “I’ve secured my end.” Arion sighed again and swallowed around the dryness of his mouth.

                “I think there’s a mole in MI6,” he said, and Steven dropped back into his chair with shock. The regular security checks he did for the British agency should have prevented that, unless whoever was behind the mole was a lot smarter than before. “Two double O’s have died this month,” Arion continued, only confirming Steven’s suspicions that the backers or infiltrators wanted someone in the department, and didn’t want Steven to vet them first. “I’ve been able to keep my boss from promoting a new one for now, but the big man upstairs wants those positions filled before the end of the month. This is only worrying me because their contacts were only other double O’s, and the only way that someone could kill them was if whoever was behind it had a man on the inside, feeding them information.” Steven growled and sat up. He pulled up navigation control and reassigned the autopilot coordinates.

                “I’m in Europe, dad,” Steven said, “I’m just passing over Germany. I’ll meet you at HQ in a few Hours. Just tell your boss that you’ve called in an outside investigator to find his mole.” Arion sighed in relief.

                “Yes, I’ll tell him,” Arion said. “He’s been just as worried about this as I have. This will be a huge relief for you to look though our records and root out this Spy.” Steven smiled and pulled out his laptop.

                “It’s no problem, dad, really,” he answered as he linked up his backdoor access to MI6, “I’ll have a short list for your analysts to go over when I get there; maybe even a suspect.” Arion sagged with relief.

                “Thank you, Steven,” Arion said. “You have no idea how much of a relief that is.” Steven smiled as he started to comb his way through the double O’s personnel files. Backgrounds and psych evaluations were all in the files including mission reports and medical records. If there was a Mole inside MI6, he would find it. No one could hide a digital trail from him.

                “See you in a few, Dad,” Steven said and ended the call. “Now, let’s see what you’re hiding,” Steven murmured to himself as he combed the files.

~**~

* * *

 

When Steven stepped out of the cargo bay of the QuinJet, Arion could tell he was not happy. The blond elf prince, felt his shoulders droop as Steven handed him a copy of a personnel file. Arion looked down at it and looked back up at his son in despair.

                “HYDRA,” he asked weakly, already knowing in his heart what the answer would be.

                “Yeah,” Steven replied, his face shuttered and blank, but with a touch of sympathy in the line of his eyes. Arion sighed and hung his head with shame.

                “What do we… do,” Arion asked as he looked up in helplessness. His shoulders shrugged and he fought for words. Steven’s expression was sympathetic and kind, as he placed a grounding hand on Arion’s shoulder.

                “Don’t worry about it,” he said calmly, “it’s taken care of.” Arion’s eyes looked shocked and hopeful, as he looked at Steven’s calm and blank face.

                “What did you do,” Arion asked and Steven’s eyes remained shuttered and his face a cold mask. “Steven, what did you do?” Steven cold eyes flashed with fire and restrained anger.

                “What needed to be done,” he answered and turned back to the QuinJet. Arion felt a stab of fear, that he should not have involved Steven with this again.

                “Steven, what did you do,” Arion demanded, grabbing Steven’s shoulder and whirling him around to look at his face.  The expression there startled him. Where he expected the cold satisfaction and pleased smile of a killer, he instead saw a bone deep weariness and sadness etched into Steven’s eyes like a physical weight. The look was quickly hidden behind the blank mask and Arion felt saddened even further by this.

                “I blew his cover,” Steven said, “I called the cartel he was trying to infiltrate as part of his mission and told them who he was. Not an MI6 agent, by a HYDRA spy,” Steven’s face turned pleasantly surprised, as a wry smile pulled across his lips. “Turns out that the cartels hate HYDRA just as much as we do, so they considered this a onetime deal, and it’s back to being enemies.” Arion sighed with relief and sagged against his son’s chest, resting his forehead against Steven’s shoulder.

                “Thank you, Steven,” he said softly. Arion looked up and with regret, saw that the shuttered look had returned. “I’m sorry to have doubted you, Yonya. I should have trusted you.” Arion reached up and caressed Steven’s jaw tenderly. “Never doubt that I love you, my son, because I do. I love you and I trust you to do the right thing.” Steven’s face softened and his smile became more genuine before he pulled Arion into a brief and warm embrace.

                “I have to go,” Steven said as he pulled away, “my boss is expecting the Jet soon.” Steven pulled away and back stepped onto the ramp. Arion waved goodbye and just as Steven turned, he remembered.

                “Steven,” Arion shouted over the roar of the churning turbines. Steven ducked back out of the plane but stood standing on the ramp, his arm braced on the bulkhead.

                “What,” he shouted over the wind. Arion smiled.

                “Your Ada and I are going to tell you something when you get home,” Arion shouted. Steven smiled and nodded in understanding, before he ducked back into the Jet and took over the controls; taking her into a perfect vertical takeoff and maneuvering her out of the city and towards home.

Arion smiled joyfully and sighed before he took out the ultrasound picture he had stashed in his pocket. He gazed at it with a warm smile before he folded it back up and put it back in his breast pocket, close to his heart; another baby to add to their growing happy family. Arion just hoped that this one would be a girl; there were too many boys in the family.

~*~*~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: there is the end of that chapter, and the end of the blissful times. Then next few chapters are going to be HYDRA’s return to the story in a more active role. Sorry but not sorry. I know I said this was going to be cannon divergent, and it is, but there are some things that I really liked about the Avengers and the Winter Soldier, mostly how intense and heartbreaking they are at moments. I think that I might cut out a chapter from my outline that is kind of tangential and skip right to the action. I’ll write it anyway, but I think I will make it a deleted scene.  
> Hope you like, and I think that I will put this part of the series on hold until I finish the side stories that are really important.


	22. Interlude- Family Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new member joins the Barnes family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: this is a short chapter telling about the growing family and the changing of the world around them. Mostly character development, and not much plot, but lots of little world building moments. Also the next parts are going to skip to the action but I did have two more chapters written that I will make into deleted scenes for you to enjoy after I finish this.  
> All total chapters -24  
> Thanks for the patience  
> On to the fic

~*~**~

* * *

 

                “It’s a girl!” Maedhros exclaimed, hoisting up the newborn for Bucky and Arion to see. Bucky collapsed into Arion’s arms with a wide and joyous smile stretched across his face.

                “A girl,” he sighed as he took gasping breaths, exhausted by the effort it took to bare this last child. But he still smiled happy and content with the newest addition to their family. Steven had waited down stairs this time, but had bounded up the stairs as he heard the lusty cry of a newborn break the silence of the house. After hours of hearing his Ada’s groans and screams, and later the near silent grunts of effort, it was a welcome sound. Jonathan had launched himself up the stairs, and was right at his big brother’s heels. Yasha was at home for once, and took a more sedate pace to see their new sibling.

                “What do you think of her, James,” Arion whispered into Bucky’s ear. Bucky lifted his head off Arion’s shoulder and looked at the baby now wrapped in soft linen in Maedhros’ arms. Maedhros gently laid her on Bucky’s bare chest, and let her squalls quiet to hiccups. Bucky smiled contentedly and pressed a kiss to her inky black hair, plastered to her head.

                “I think she’s wonderful,” Bucky said and looked up at Arion with a cheeky smile, “heaven knows there are too many males in your family.” Arion laughed and took the good natured ribbing about the number of males in many of the royal families of the elves. Bucky looked back down at the little girl with a tender smile. “I’m just glad it’s a girl. I had three sisters, it’s about time I had a daughter.” Arion rested his cheek against Bucky’s sweat drenched hair, and smiled.

                “I know,” he said softly, “she is beautiful, meleth.” Bucky grinned and turned his head to look at the wistful smile on Arion’s face.

                “Yeah, she is,” Bucky agreed, “you know I’m not gonna let her date until she’s at least forty.” Arion huffed out a short laugh and chuckled into Bucky’s hair.

                “Yes,” Arion agreed, “this I know.” The pair looked up as Steven bounded into the room his eyes wide like saucers, Jonathan and Yasha not far behind.

                “Hey, sweethearts,” Bucky said with a hoarse voice, “come and say hi to your baby sister.” Steven’s shocked face bloomed into joy as he strode across the room and sat down by Bucky’s head. Steven looked down as Bucky pulled the linen wrappings away from the baby’s face. Jonny leaned over Steven to get a good look and grinned.

                “She’s so wrinkly,” Jonny said and Bucky chuckled.

                “So were you,” he told Jonny.

                “What’s her name,” Steven asked with childlike wonder, his fingers lightly brushing the baby girl’s milk white skin. Bucky looked at his daughter with a fond smile.

                “Natasha,” he said softly. Steven looked at his Ada with surprise, and then smiled.

                “For Romanoff,” he asked, and Bucky nodded.

                “Natasha,” he said softly, “my little Natasha.” Then a fey light entered his eyes, as the little girl opened her eyes to reveal deep pools of the most beautiful shade of sparkling gray he had ever seen. “Lúthien,” he breathed. His voice was near a whisper, awe and wonder in his eyes. “Arion, she’s Lúthien.” Bucky looked up at his husband and saw shock on the elven prince’s face.

                “She is,” he confirmed and looked at their eldest son. Steven’s eyes held a fay light, burning like the light of the trees but more bright and ancient then even their light had been. Steven smiled and his countenance was like unto one of the holiest of the Valar; bright and shining with barely contained light.

                “Definitely not dating till she’s forty,” Bucky said as the light receded from his eyes and a joyous smile pulled across his lips.

                “Natasha Lúthien,” Yasha said with a wistful smile, “it has a nice ring to it.” Maedhros looked at the child and locked eyes with the young one, and found his gaze trapped by the ancient power held within. Just briefly, before she closed her eyes, Maedhros would swear that he saw a smile pull across the newborn’s lips. Peace filled his heart, and an old burden lifted; and he knew that, whatever transgression that had passed between her and his family, it was forgiven. Just as the growing family was cooing over the still unwashed baby, the phone rang.

Maedhros looked over to the nightstand and gave the new mother a smile.

                “I’ll get it,” he said and walked over to the nightstand to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

                “Maedhros,” a cheerful voice said, and Maedhros grinned in remembrance.

                “Arthadan,” he said cheerily, “of what reason does the King of the Westernesse call?” Arthadan laughed cheerfully at Maedhros’ flattery, and flowery tongue.

                “I called to ask after Bucky,” he said, then asked, “How is he? I heard the child was nearly due.” Maedhros smiled wide and looked over at the happy family.

                “He just delivered, actually,” Maedhros said, and heard an exclamation of joy from the ancient King of Men. Maedhros chuckled and continued, “A girl. He’s named her Lúthien.” Arthadan was silent for a moment before he finally spoke his voice quiet and reverent.

                “Could you put me on speaker,” he asked. Maedhros pulled the phone away from his ear and turned to the family group huddled around the newborn.

                “Arthadan is on the phone,” he said to Bucky and the youthful parent looked up from his child’s form. “He wants to talk.” Bucky smiled and nodded his consent. Maedhros pressed the speaker phone button and returned the phone to the cradle. “Speak, my friend.” Arthadan chuckled softly.

                “Many congratulations, Bucky,” Arthadan said over the speaker, “I know she’ll be a beautiful daughter. I wish I could have been there; alas, that I could not.” Bucky smiled sadly.

                “It’s alright, Arthadan,” he said, “don’t beat yourself up over it. You’ve had a lot on your plate lately. And with your border issues, I know you don’t want to risk leaving; at least not until they’re resolved.” Arthadan sighed.

Ever since the attack on the US that dreadful day, Arthadan and their people dreaded an attack such as that on their own country. They redoubled their border patrols and doubled the number of March wardens protecting their borders. They were paranoid, and rightfully so; the two of the largest dictatorship régimes had tried to exterminate the Numenoreans: first the Nazis, then the Soviets under Stalin. It was horrible. In the last one hundred years the Numenorean people were reduced to barely a fraction of their original might, and like the Jews of Israel “Never again” was a cry that filled the hearts of those that remembered those old days.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

But there was more reason for them to fear an attack. While Numenoreans had never outright given their support to any conflict, mercenaries would sell their strength to those whom they had deemed worthy. And this had been done for thousands of years, until Hithlum was founded. Finally with a Kingdom, land to call their own, and a king of wisdom and renown to lead them, Numenoreans had a banner to fight under and perhaps give their full support to others. Arthadan was not one for conflict, nor war, but when pushed he would fight with a ferocity like none had ever seen. As a result, Hithlum slowly but surely gained power in the world, until they were standing tall and proud like their ancestors of old; great and noble and Lords of Men. All of this before they had even opened their borders for trade, and travel.  New cities were being built with the loving hands of all Hithlum’s people, not just the Numenoreans. And from the ashes of the Soviet Union, Hithlum resurrected the culture of ancient Numenor, and her people. And not only was their culture being restored, so were their people, as the birth of the kingdom spawned a Baby boom among Numenoreans; their overall census, not just the military traditional census, tripling in the months following the kingdom’s founding.

As their numbers grew, so too did their military might grow in power and strength; their numbers almost five times greater than in any year since the first War with Rome. Arthadan wanted the best protection for his soldiers, and thought that the armor and military gear that most armies supplied their soldiers with was a joke. Thus he demanded that his scientists develop a new form of armor, and they jumped to do as he commanded. The result was not unlike the armor of the Numenoreans of old, during the first years they came to Earth. It looked formal and ceremonial, like the ancient plate armor Arthadan wore to banquets and balls, but in reality they had managed to create something unlike anything ever seen before in armor or weapons: Magnetic Energy shielding. It in a sense acted like a force field, surrounding the wearer with an impenetrable shield of energy, that could stop any fast moving object dead. When it was attached to the armor, it created a bubble around the wearer that only extended a few inches past the armor plating. It wasn’t perfect, not like a full shield would be, but that was what the kite Shields and bickers were for. If the same system was attached to those, the soldier could create an impenetrable barrier between him and the enemy, until he could get into close quarters where rifles and automatic guns were nearly useless. Here was where they would turn the field of battle into a medieval skirmish, and turn the tides much like they had in the past.

Ancient families that had survived what they now called “the Great Purge” still had their ancestral armor, and many Lords and Nobles had passed on their armor to their heirs. It was thus that they used this old, battered, and repaired armor to create a template for the new Armor of the Hithlum Infantry. Rangers had mostly cloth armor, and traditionally leather, and this was now given an under layer of Mithril mesh, an impenetrable cloth that was sewn onto the backside of the Ranger’s armor.

When they were finished, Hithlum had an army that looked old fashioned but was far more advanced than any army that walked the earth. March Wardens were armed with Bows that shot energy bolts like arrows, and Rangers carried ancient Mithril Longbows that could fire an arrow, with a head tipped in Mithril, over a mile away with lethal effect. They had armored infantry, and fully mounted cavalry, with forces ranging from the light mounted, with their riders only wearing Mithril leather armor and shielding; up to the heavy cavalry, fully armored like Numenorean knights. They had an armored tank cavalry, which acted as artillery and covering fire for the mounted, and though this tank division was small, it had all the lethality of the German Tiger Panzer, and its dreaded 88 shells. Before the infantry was the pike men, and spear guard, with their long Elvish Glaives that sliced through bone like hot butter, and carried their great kite shields. Archers walked behind them with their mighty longbows and explosive arrows, packing just as much a punch as the artillery shells.

The Rangers did their work in the shadows, blending into the surrounding environment and attacking swiftly and without warning. This made them the most useful ground unit in the whole of the Hithlum army. Not only did they have ground assault armies, they had them most advanced planes, courtesy of Steven’s designs and Stark Industries manufacturing. These planes ruled the skies above Hithlum, and were constantly seen doing aerial training and mock dogfights above the countryside.

Tony had made a deal with Arthadan in one of the most lucrative deals he had ever made: total monopoly on Hithlum’s Military supply. His company was the only one that supplied Hithlum with their weapons, and in a stroke of genius, he had even gotten a manufacturing plant built in Dor Lomin, the largest Stark industries factory to date. It built planes of all kinds; most especially their version of the QuinJet that Steven had built. The plans were kept under lock and key, and the manufacturing of the planes was done in separate locations before final assembly at the main site. They also built tanks that stood up to anything that was thrown at them. It was the most lucrative deal of the century, and it made Arthadan Tony Stark’s most loyal and well paying customer.

This Air core was part of the Rangers, and they were called the Thorondor Air Core. They were the mightiest army of pilots and warriors in the whole of the army. And the best of them all was the Eagle squadron. They were the elite, the best of the best, and no one dared to face one of Eagle squadron in the air. With them were the Paratrooper Core, and as Steven called them “the craziest sons of bitches to ever take to the skies.” They were held up to with the same regard in all of the Hithlum army, as the 101st was to the US army. These men trained with the Rangers in behind the lines enemy combat, and in shock and awe campaigns. They were stealthy and fast, and they made a perfect addition to Hithlum’s armed forces.

And most central of all Arthadan’s pride, and the pride of any Numenorean, was Hithlum’s Royal Navy. It boasted more ships than any country in the world. Central to this naval force were then Aircraft carriers. The largest in the world and the most advanced ships to sail the seas. And they carried the finest naval air force ever to be seen. Added to these were the mighty Battleships. Big broad behemoths, that boasted the largest guns on any ship ever built, and each one had nine long range howitzer guns. They were built to sit off shore and pummel the enemy into submission. Not only that, but they were also built to take a pounding. Their massive hulls were coated with a special Mithril paint that made them all but impervious to torpedoes and their decks were coated with a Vibranium weave just under the teak wood, which would stop a shell cold. Destroyers were built to the same specifications, but instead of sitting and taking the pounding, they were made to be fast and deadly. Cruisers were just as hardy and deadly. But the pride of them all was the old Numenorean fleet. They were old and antiquated when they were finally dragged out of the hidden coves and bays where they had stashed them almost fifteen hundred years before, but when the engineers were finished with them they were every bit as deadly as their modern Warships. And at the head of this old fleet was their crown jewel: the Gil Estel- Star of Hope. These ships carried troops to shores and were used as transports, but they were made to take a pounding, just as much as a Battleship; if not more.

Put into effect, it was a system that intimidated and awed their enemies just as it did of old. But even with all this military and industrial might behind them, the day of the 9/11 attacks hit the fledgling country hard. Arthadan was about to petition the Council to open Hithlum’s borders and open their country into the world stage. Then the news came of the attacks and the Council came to him to have an emergency congress. The congress voted unanimously that Hithlum would close its borders for the foreseeable future, and they would only be open to Numenoreans trying to escape to safety. Workers had to be thoroughly screened for any fanatic connection to terrorism, but once they passed, they continued on into the country. They were watched discreetly, but no one was taking any chances.

~*~~*~*

* * *

 

All of this weighed heavily on Arthadan’s heart. But he wanted his people safe and secure behind their borders before he dared to throw open their borders and the gates to the kingdom, and let travel and trade flow through.

                “I just wish my people felt secure,” Arthadan said. His heart heavy, “if my heir was still living they would have the confidence to open our borders, but Steve…” Arthadan felt tears of sorrow fill his eyes. Maedhros and everyone in the room suddenly felt very keenly the absence of the one person who should have been there, and a single tear ran down Bucky’s cheek. The look in his eyes was not the gutted anguish he had felt all those year before; but rather it was a tired sorrow, and resignation to the loss. Bucky still felt his friend’s absence keenly but the loss no longer pierced his heart like a knife. He knew about the renewed searches in the arctic by SHIELD, hoping to find technology or weapons, but Bucky just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to see his friend’s body one last time before they laid him to his proper rest.

                “I know, Arthadan,” Bucky said, “We all miss him. Maybe someday, when they bring him home the council will make a decision.” Arthadan sighed.

                “He was my only living heir,” Arthadan whispered, “the last of the House of Arthadan.” He laughed bitterly, “Alas that it came to this! The young perish, the old linger; that I should live now, to see the end of my house. I wish that he’d lived!” Arthadan sobbed. Bucky pressed his teary cheek onto Natasha’s crown.

                “So do I, Arthadan,” he said somberly, “so do I.”

Little did they all know that the ice was beginning to shift, bringing an old plane buried in ice and snow back to the surface once more, and with it the hope of a nation.

~*~*

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: sorry this took so long. The next two chapters skip ahead to just before the Iron man movie. HYDRA rediscovers the Asset and makes its move.  
> Again I will post the deleted chapters once I write them. They are mostly just a time waste right now, and I just want to be done. Once that is finished, and this is all posted, I’ll get to work on part 4: the Avengers and Winter Soldier. I hope you don’t mind me rehashing dialogue from the films, because I hate it when people don’t get it right.  
> Please review and give me a kudos or fave, subscribe to the series to get updates on all the fics.


	23. Kidnapped!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I hope you don’t hate me for this, but it was going to happen, and I will not apologize for it.  
> Anyway: HYDRA returns for their Asset  
> On to the fic

~~*~*~*~*

* * *

 

It was the middle of the day, on a beautiful warm sunny day, when Bucky’s life went right back to Hell. Steven and Jonathan were at work, dealing with some crisis or another, and Yasha had just left a few days earlier to do his yearly weapons qualifications at the Army base in DC. Arion had left Bucky alone with Huan and Nelyo to deal with his accumulated pile of post op reports and paperwork. It had been quiet all day, so he was completely taken by surprise when he heard a loud smash from the living room and the startled bark of Huan.

Bucky was just coming down the stairs to investigate, when Huan starts barking in aggressive warning. Bucky stopped at the landing and saw a red haired streak bolt for the living room when Huan let out a pained yelp. Bucky froze when he heard the shouts and short orders being barked by several men. His heart leapt into his throat and his body seized up stiff.

                “ ** _BUCKY, RUN_** ,” Nelyo shouted. The urgent panic in the red-head’s voice broke him out of his daze, and Bucky tore down the steps and made a man dash for the front door. Just as he is about to throw open the door, his vision whited out with pain. Dazed and stunned, Bucky crumpled to the ground clutching the back of his head. He rolled over just in time to see a STRIKE team with guns pointed at him rush to his position. The man standing behind him held his tranquilizer-gun with the butt end forward, obviously the source of the pain in his head.

The man had a cruel smirk on his face and a self-satisfied look in his eyes. Bucky didn’t need to see the old patch or hear the cold voice to know that they were HYDRA. Bucky paled and scrambled back when the burly man reached for him, only to be stopped by another man clocking him across the jaw. If he were not enhanced and just a regular human the blow would have knocked him clear out, instead it stunned him long enough for the man to haul him up and throw him over his shoulder.

~*~*

* * *

 

The sight of SHIELD STRIKE team was not what Maedhros had expected when he rushed into the living room to discover the source of Huan’s distressed barking. He entered the room just in time to see the leader shoot Huan with a tranquilizer dart. The man was obviously not expecting the very large hound lying on the floor to shoot up and start barking very loudly, and shot him in surprise. Judging from the way Huan whined and slumped to the ground, the dart was obviously not meant for him.

Maedhros quickly presses his mind into the man and recoiled in panic when he heard the word in his mind.

                ‘Get the Asset,’ he thought, and Maedhros paled to a snow white.

                “BUCKY, RUN,” he bellowed at the top of his voice, and dove for the telephone on the side table by the couch.

                “Shit,” the man cursed and brought the gun up and fired. Maedhros felt a sharp prick in his shoulder, followed by a sudden wash of dizziness and a woozy feeling in his head. It felt as if everything was muffled with cotton and his eyes were held down by lead.

                ‘I’ve been drugged,’ Maedhros realized but while the effects were immediate, it seemed that they had not taken into account elvish metabolism being higher than Bucky’s. Maedhros had been drugged and tortured by Sauron in Angband, so he knew how to muscle through the effects of a sleeping toxin, and forced himself to pull the side table over. The phone tumbled down to the floor with a clatter and crash, and Maedhros pulled himself over to the cradle. He allowed himself to feel his panic to keep his adrenaline pumping and countering the drug while he sluggishly reached for the phone and pressed the special panic button to call the police.

The police commissioner from when Bucky had returned to New York and agreed to the stipulation that Bucky neighborhood be heavily patrolled and all officers in the area would be given a direct call for just such an emergency. As a result the two patrol cars on their block were startled out of the mindless patrol when a priority assist came over the line.

                ‘ _All units, all units, this is a priority one alert, I repeat this is a priority one alert,’_ came the prerecorded message, ’ _10-10 H, kidnapping in progress, I repeat this is a 10-10 H, kidnapping in progress,’_ the recording then stated Bucky’s address before continuing, ‘ _multiple assailants spotted. Suspects should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution,’_ the pair looked at each other, knowing that was Bucky’s address, and knowing from the moment they had been given this assignment that this could happen one day. The response was drilled into their heads by their chief and the commissioner that they were to respond immediately and with lethal force.

                “10-4, this is Adam 10 responding to residential distress call, requesting secondary backup,” the officer called into dispatch. Dispatch called back confirming the distress call and sending the second squad car as back up.

The officer turned on the squad car’s lights and sirens before pulling a u turn and speeding toward Bucky’s house. Officer Joe Reagan looked over at his partner and saw the look of panic on the driver’s face. Sergeant MacArthur was a tough as nails police sergeant and never showed fear, so the fact that he looked like he was about to have a heart attack shocked even him.

                “1703,” Joe said, “That’s the Barnes’ place, isn’t it?” the Serge tightened his jaw with a curt nod and pressed his foot to the floor. Mackie had known Bucky for years, and had always stopped by on his daily patrol to check in on the doctor. Everyone in the precinct liked him, and always looked forward to his little visits to the office. Bucky baked and everyone knew that sooner or later he would show up with a giant plate of sweets to leave in the break room, along with a thank you card for each officer that had personally patrolled his block. Mackie knew about the panic button on Bucky’s phone, he’d even heard the dispatch update the recording this last year, but he had never thought that he would be responding to that call for help.

Joe swallowed and checked his gun as Mackie flew around the corner; switching off the lights and sirens as he went. As the approach the house Joe feels his face pale when he sees the commotion progressing on the front lawn of the normally quiet little Brooklyn home. There was a large tactical type van parked outside the front gate guarded by four burly looking men in black tack armor, holding automatic military rifles. There were five more men struggling with someone on the lawn. As they got closer, Mackie let out a curse.

                “Shit, that’s Barnes,” he swore and pulled the car to be perpendicular to the road, blocking half their exit.  The pair piled out of the car and Joe turned to see the second squad car pull up and do the same. “NYPD, FREEZE!” MacArthur shouted just as Joe positioned himself behind the car. Everything happened in such quick succession that Joe barely had time to duck for cover.

First one of the van’s guards turned and saw them; next the commander had obviously had enough and slammed the butt of his gun into Bucky’s head dazing him for a moment before he resumed his resistance.

                “ ** _Lemme go_** ,” he shrieked, “ ** _lemme go, you Nazi bastards!_** ” Barnes kicked and clawed and bit, and punched; and was generally nothing like the smiling and polite man that brought the precinct cookies and brownies from time to time. This man was more akin to a wild animal, fighting like a man possessed, his eyes wild with terror.

                “GET RID OF ‘EM,” the commander shouted, and suddenly he was under fire. Their automatic weapons opened fire on the policemen and before he even realized what was happening, MacArthur screamed and collapsed behind the car. Joe looked over and saw a perfectly round little hole staining his blue uniform red at his collar above his vest. Joe dropped his gun and pressed his hands against the bleeding wound, vaguely aware that there was a cut off scream and another body dropping. MacArthur was dazed and choking on blood with every cough. Joe realized that the man had probably hit Mackie’s lung or at the very least shattered a rib that punctured his lung. Joe scrambled for his radio, trying to keep pressure on the wound.

                “10-13, officer down,” he shouted into the radio, “I repeat officer down; I have multiple armed assailants with automatic weapons. I need back up, I repeat I need backup. I need a bus re to this location.” Joe barely heard the responding 10-4 of at least six other squads as he tried to keep his partner from dying.

~*~*~

* * *

 

Nelyo stumbled out of the house, catching on the door frame to steady himself. His great battle sword is clutched in his left hand, the tip scraping against the ground, as he leaned his head against his right arm and willed away the dizziness in his head. When his head finally lifts, he sees the STRIKE team stuff Bucky into the back of the van. Suddenly a great boiling rage welled up from within him, and his lavender grey eyes turned to diamonds, and began to burn. It was a raging hot fire, boiling up from his spirit as it ignited once more. Suddenly he felt hale and he pulled himself up to his full and great height, the sword in his hand lifting from the ground as he gripped it firmly. And his spirit burned again, as it once did in the Elder days; like a white flame it burned, as one who was returned from the dead. His countenance changed, as he saw brave men dying to save Bucky, and he was thrown back in time to the first age, when it was his own guard trying to save him from the Balrogs and orcs even as they were slaughtered.

With a great cry he lifted his sword and charged the STRIKE team. The men that saw him were suddenly caught off guard and became filled with dread at his fey and fell countenance, and froze where they stood. Maedhros bellowed out a battle cry as he brought his sword down on his first victim.

                **_‘Death to you all, foul betrayers,_** ’ he cried as he cleaved the first man in two. His sword met no resistance as he pivoted and turned on a dime to bring his sword up to cut down another. Maedhros comes face to face with a third who tries to foolishly parry his bow with his gun, but the red-haired Noldor is a veteran of many battles. He parried the blow only to bring down the cross guard of his sword into the HYDRA agent’s neck. The man scream of pain is quickly cut off as the elf removes the guard from his neck and swiftly cleaved his head from his shoulders. Maedhros looked up for more evil men to have his sword drink their blood and saw the van speeding away. Maedhros snarled and yelled his anger and grief to the heavens. ‘ ** _Curse you_** ,’ he shouted at their retreating vehicle. ‘ ** _Curse you! Curse you all to fire and death!_** ’ tears ran down his face as the adrenaline leached out of his blood, and left him weak. The blood soaked blade slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. “I curse you,” he hissed as his knees gave out, “tears unnumbered ye shall shed ere the end comes. Fire and death claim you.  May He close His ears to thy wails of torment, so that not even the echoes of thine lamentation will come to over the Gates of Heaven, and turn His face from thy sight. The Righteous One shall burn you to the ground, so that not even the memory of your glory shall be remembered well.” Fay light entered Maedhros’ eyes as he proclaimed prophecy upon their heads. “All things thou hast built will crumble; all thy monuments to thine glory, burn! All thine great works shall turn to ash, and rubble in his wake. There _will be **no**_ **_mercy_**!” Maedhros slowly rose to his feet and stumbled over to the wounded policeman, trying in vain to put pressure on his partners wound.

The man looked up as Maedhros knelt down and dressed his wounded shoulder. The name plate above the man’s shield says Reagan and Maedhros looked into the man’s eyes with sorrow.

                “Are they gone,” he asked shakily, and Maedhros nodded.

                “Call it in, son,” he said and sat back on his haunches. In a moment it finally hit him and he fell back onto his butt. Maedhros brought a blood covered hand up to press against his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut as the monument of what had happened finally set in: HYDRA has Bucky, the Winter Soldier, once more. His face paled even further as it became even more grim: HYDRA had Bucky, and this time they didn’t have Steven to save him from the inside. “Oh, God!” he said in soft exclamation, his eyes filled with horror.

The sound of the officer calling in the event became not even a muffled murmur in his ears as his world suddenly crashed down around his head. He sat there numbly as the police finally came with reinforcements and ambulances for the living and coroners for the dead. He numbly gave his report to the detective before he stumbled back into the house to call Steven.

The phone rang for only a moment before Maedhros heard Steven’s cheery voice on the other end. Suddenly the elf prince felt incredibly sad. Steven had made so much progress from the brooding and vengeful man he had been when he first saw him again. There was so much pain in the boy then and it took so long for it to fade away to the occasional flit of darkness over his eyes when he recalled those dark days. He hated that he was the one to bring that dark pain back into Steven’s blight blue eyes.

                “Steven,” he said shakily, unsure as to how to tell him.

                “Maedhros, what’s wrong,” Steven asked.

                “Is Jonathan there,” Maedhros asked, his voice wavering.

                “Yeah, he’s here, Nat too,” Steven said with concern, “Nelyo, what’s wrong?” Maedhros felt a lone tear run down his face.

                “HYDRA came, Steven,” he said with a cracking voice. “They took Bucky!” Steven’s breaths suddenly stopped and became shaky little puffs as he felt panic set in.

                “What,” he asked with his voice near a whisper.

                “They took him, Steven; right out from under me,” Maedhros said his voice finally cracking in a sob, “like I was an inexperienced warrior in my first battle! Steven, I am so sorry!” Maedhros sobbed, “I failed. HYDRA has him, and I failed.” Steven looked up at his brother and sister’s pale faces and felt the fire of rage boil up in his gut.

                “I’m gonna burn them to the ground,” Steven seethed, his countenance dark and fell. “Before I am through with them, they are going to wish they were never born!” Dark hatred fueled by rage roared through his mind. And he vowed to end them all, in his heart as he looked at his sister’s sweet young face contort with shock and grief. In his heart he vowed to destroy all of HYDRA this time, and he would not stop until he had burned out all of HYDRA from the last of its roots. “I’m gonna destroy them down to the last soldier, the last scientist, the last handler! I’m going to erase their names from existence!”

Maedhros closed his eyes and felt his grief overcome him, knowing that Yasha would take it even worse, and Arion would be destroyed. This was a crushing blow to the family, but Maedhros had to wonder: why now? This was worse than before, for there was no one left to help; they were either dead or old, or gone.

In the cold Arctic north, the Heir to the House of Arthadan dreamed of Silver Fists and Silver Shields. The sounds of old dance music echoing in crowded dance halls, and red lips offsetting an equally red dress; a soft smile set on his frozen lips.

~~**~

* * *

 

TBC…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note: thanks for the patience, and the long wait. Next chapter will be the last, then it’s off to part four and (drum roll please) the return of Captain America! All good things must come to an end, but I hope the next part doesn’t take as long to write.


	24. Epilogue- Michael's Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael proclaims Doom upon HYDRA and his betrayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: for those of you who are SPN fans, who remembered Michael I haven’t forgotten; this last part is all for you.  
> Michael proclaims doom upon HYDRA and SHIELD. It’s one last reminder that while powerful he’s got brothers willing to do anything to keep him out of the way. (Cough) Zachariah (cough) Uriel  
> On to the fic

~*~*~*

* * *

 

The room they take him into is just as dark and cold as the one in Siberia for one simple reason: in the very center was the Chair. Bucky paled and shook with terror, his whole body freezing stiff when he set eyes on it.

                “ _No_ ,” he gasped, his voice nearly a whisper. He looked over to the men setting up the controls with wide wet eyes, as his body became ramrod stiff. The men on his arms started to drag him closer and finally Bucky broke out of his stupor. He dug his heals into the floor and backpedaled. “ ** _NO_**!” he screeched grabbing at their hands and struggling to pull away. He was by far a lot stronger than them and was able to pull free of one set of hands only for two more to take their place. Bucky thrashed and kicked with all his might, but by the time he managed to control his limbs enough to use his extensive battle knowledge there were men grabbing at his legs and arms. He was hoisted into the air kicking and screaming for all his worth, but it was obvious that these men know who they were dealing with because they were obviously stronger than normal; nowhere near his strength but strong enough that between the six of them they turned him in the air and forced him into the Chair.

The Chair was his living nightmare; a demonic mockery of a dentist’s chair with a large armature that had plates that would come down to clamp around his head and face. It was terrifying enough that it took years before he could have someone touch his left cheek without feeling the ghosts of those wipes from years ago. Then there were the heavy restraints that were built into the arms that would clamp down and lock him into place. No matter how hard he thrashed and fought they held him in place for the wipes. Suddenly Bucky felt very afraid and began to pray.

                “Oh dear, God, please help me,” he begged as they secured the metal clamps around his arms and legs. Tears ran down his face as he looked at all the men in the room. There was a mechanical whir and the head piece began to rotate to position. Bucky’s heart dropped to the floor before lurching up into his throat, beating a mile a minute. He looked up at the ceiling and saw with mounting dread a strange circular seal etched directly over him. It took him a moment but with an even bigger lurch in his gut, he felt Michael stir within him and recoil in horror. “Oh, God, no!” he gasped and the words were not just his own.

                ‘A Seal,’ Michael whimpered in terror within his mind, and tried to flex his power and found it trapped within Bucky; within his vessel.  Michael was helpless to do anything to stop the technicians from attaching sensors and monitors to Bucky’s chest. Bucky shook with helpless terror and squeezed his eyes shut before he looked around the room.

There were several STRIKE team soldiers standing all around the room, with large automatic guns strapped to their tack-vests, and with them were the scientist and technicians. Bucky’s eyes froze upon and old man seated in a wheelchair in front of him. Bucky didn’t need to be psychic to know who he was. He remembered the man well: Zhukov; The Programmer. Bucky dropped his head back to the headrest and cried.

                “Oh, God, please help me,” he sobbed. The armature moved again as the technicians celebrated the controls. “Please, help me. **_MICHAEL, HELP_**!” he wailed.

                “Michael can’t help you, Barnes,” a man said, and Bucky looked up to see an older man in a suit that didn’t look out of place on a politician. In fact he looked like a slimy politician, but it was Michael’s reaction that caught him off guard: holy rage and wrath. “And he’s not going to get in the way this time. You see we found out his little scheme, and since he’s willing to stand in the way of order, we asked these lovely people to take care of him for us.”

                “Zachariah,” Michael seethed as he finally took control. Bucky calm face turned into a picture of Michael’s Holy wrath as he glared at his brother; one he had once trusted with his life, and roared, “TRAITOR! You lying scum! Do you have any idea what you have done? You have doomed us all, Zachariah! If you think that you have won, think again. Because when I get free, you will be the first I cast down from Heaven. I will _rip_ out your wings and _burn you in Holy Oil!_ You have no right to Heaven, Betrayer!” the slimy politician, angel Zachariah, shrugged and turned to the large black man at his side and nodded towards Zhukov.

                “Yes, well, that’s if you ever get out,” he said, “which you won’t unless you play by our rules.” Michael’s eyes flashed, his Grace burning blue white in Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s whole form began to glow with pure archangel might as Michael thrashed against the Seal containing him.

                “Don’t be like that, Michael,” the large black man said a cruel smile on his face, “when the Morningstar returns you won’t have to worry about him.” Michael hissed at the angel, and growled.

                “Uriel,” he growled, and turned his burning glare upon him, “you traitor, I should have cast you out with Lucifer!” the angel chuckled and moved to stand beside Zachariah.

                “Yes, well,” he smirked, “now you won’t get the chance.” And with that the two angels flew away with the sound of faint wing flaps. The armature finally began to rotate down when Michael set his eyes upon the man in charge. He was an older man, perhaps in his mid to late-sixties. He had graying red blond hair and had once been a handsome man, at least on the outside. On the inside, Michael could see that his soul was as black with sin as a demon’s, and the Archangel knew that this man was the truest form of Evil humanity could create and remain human. Michael’s eyes flash with Grace and Holy light, as he wrapped his Grace around Bucky’s memories and mind; cocooning his vessel’s soul and protecting him as he felt a Seal being etched into Bucky’s mind, thrusting his power back deep into Bucky’s subconscious and pushing him even deeper into Bucky’s form. Michael knew this witchcraft well enough to know that it was a Sigil meant to seal him and bind his powers and mind in the subconscious of his Vessel. Michael sent one last scathing glare at the Powerful telepath, before he turned his eyes onto Alexander Pierce. The device is just about to wrap around his head, when Michael flashed defiantly in Bucky’s eyes once more and spoke. His words were fell and deep, and laced with prophecy as he proclaimed his Doom upon them.

                “You cannot control what you have taken,” he said, “you have no idea what you have done!” his eyes flashed and his voice deepened with echoing, and the room shook with the might of his true Voice, “before the end is come, you will see the Wrath of Heaven and the Might of the Archangel,” Michael’s voice boomed in the room, echoing with the power of his Grace; like rolling thunder it rumbles and shakes the room like an earthquake. The technicians quake in terror but continue to work under the quelling glare of their boss. But Michael sees all, and his Doom is still heard, “all that you have accomplished will crumble before your eyes into ash and dust, all the works of your hands will be destroyed before your feet! The _Captain… will come_! He will tear down your monuments; destroy the works of thy hands. He will burn it all to _ash_! And there is nothing you can do to stop it! Seek not the mercy of Heaven, Betrayers, for you will not find it,” the device descends and clamped over Bucky’s face but Michael flashed his eyes and said, “Nor shall you receive it!”

There is an electrical buzz before the machine final activates, and suddenly the room is filled but Bucky’s pain filled screams, as his memories as burnt away; stolen once again by the machine he thought he would never see again.

~*~*~*

* * *

 

To Be Continued in _Renewed Shall be Blade That Was Broken_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: last chapter of the season. YAY! I hope you all enjoyed it, and I look forward to seeing you all in the next installment of the House of Arthadan where we will at last see… Steve Rogers return!  
> This was the hardest to write not only because of the emotional roller coaster of the 9/11 chapters, but also because of the length of time this spans. The first one was easy because it was over the course of the first Captain America film, and before, but after that it became hard. I am glad to say that we are in the homestretch right now. The next one is movie stuff, so dialogue will be easier, but then …  
> Oh crap I have to write the Lord of the Rings!  
> (Sob into my desk) this is definitely not the Homestretch. Maybe backstretch, but we still have a long way to go. Thanks again to my loyal reviewers who have asked questions and posted their experiences, it’s so nice of you all to do that.   
> I hope to hear back from you for the four installments of the series.  
> Fin… for now


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